


There Will Be Time

by glam_reaper2



Category: The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Blood and Gore, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, and all that that implies in every time, because... you know... war, oh! I forgot to tag death bc obviously, shitty parents, that rhymed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 74,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28902060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glam_reaper2/pseuds/glam_reaper2
Summary: He was 5 years old the first time it happened... When the Fates showed their face on the back of a coin, Patroclus found himself ripped from modern comfort, and thrown into a world he'd only played at.He was 10 when it happened again...And again....And again.....When time was a line, a circle, a fragment; two boys met. Their story became legend, became a beginning, an end, a middle.  While the Gods played their game of fate, the Fates played a game of gods. Theirs is a story of love, of loss, of sacrifice... Of inevitability.___________________________________________Title from song: There Will Be Time, by Mumford & Sons & Baaba Maal 🖤Inspired by a fic I read like two years ago in the TRC fandom "(The Time It Takes) To Believe In Fate" by LydiaStJames, a piece of work so incredible I've never forgotten it. While I can only hope to have a fragment of their talent, I found myself unable to avoid writing this piece. The idea of circular time, of love, of history.... It felt a fitting way to grieve in the face of finishing Song of Achilles. So I do hope you enjoy my spin on a world such as that, for a set of characters such as these.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles)
Comments: 248
Kudos: 81





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So let's kick this off; Hi.  
> Growing up I loved Greek Mythology, the epics, the gods, the heroes, the tragedy. I am in no way an expert and I can say only that I'm doing my best. I expect this fic to really fuck with the facts, the characterizations, but it's all for the plot. I have no schedule as of yet, I'm writing this in the hours between work and sleep since I can't seem to get it out of my head. I really hope you enjoy it, but warning *It's not Beta'd bc I don't have one for this fandom* If I made any mistakes please let me know <3 This is basically my way of coping with having my heart broken (knowingly) by this OTP and by a fic I read over a year ago that I think of at least once a week.
> 
> I guess the last thing I have to say is this: I don't know who you are, I don't know what your story is, but know that I hope you have all the time, in every universe, to find your happiness. 
> 
> -Kenz
> 
> *If I missed any tags let me know*

She smelled like pickles, and someone had painted too many colors on her face. Patroclus wondered if she was comfortable on her bed of cream satin, he hoped so, she’d be there for a very long time. His tears were hot where they slid down his face, but Patroclus didn’t look away. Instead he did as his father had instructed, though he wouldn’t have needed to, Menoetius had made it clear he had a job. Slowly, Patroclus reached into the ornate box and grasped his mother’s hand- somewhere behind him he heard the shuttering click of a camera. She was cold, so much different than she’d been the last time he saw her; it bleed into him until it struck the bones beneath his black suit, and there it made a home.

“That’s enough,” his father said. “Back to your seat.”

Patroclus took a deep breath, kissed the painted shell playing his mother across her brow, then turned around. The Cathedral was packed; rows and rows of men and women in expensive black clothes masquerading their hurt for the world to see. It was what you’d expect from a funeral, everyone playing their part. Beneath the soft cello he could hear sniffles; hushed condolences. It made him angry, all this pretend. Philomela was a senator’s wife, a philanthropist, an heiress, the picture of family values to the everyday voter; but to Patroclus she’d been the world. Until she wasn’t.

He made his way carefully down the stairs to the first row of uncomfortable benches in a long line of uncomfortable benches. All around him he could hear whispers, _it’s so sad_ , they said, _she was so young_. Patroclus pulled himself onto the bench and brought his blurry eyes to his father; as his feet swung back and forth over the cold marble floor, he watched his father lay a final kiss on his mother’s cheek before he too sat. “Stop that,” his father growled with a hand on his thigh, and though he was only 5, Patroclus knew to listen. He stayed still, hardening in his grief like a statue. The ceremony was long, so many people he’d never seen spoke hollow words, and a priest gave a speech about hope. It was hours, years where he watched the box; and it was no time at all.

And then it was a car in a long line of cars, and then the graveyard. It was freshly tilled earth slipping between small fingers; peppering the box with a quiet tattoo. It was the smell of whiskey, and a house full of people- too much food, too many voices, and somehow being alone through it all. _I’m sorry_ , they told him when they shook his hand in theirs. _She loved you so much_ , they assured him, as if he had any doubt. _We’re here for you_ ; but they’d be gone soon enough and it would only be him in this house with a monster, and a ghost.

It got hotter, the black tide of bodies moved around, and the walls swam. Patroclus wasn’t sure if it was because his jacket was just a little too tight, or if he couldn’t breathe because the world was ending. Sweat started beneath his chocolate curls and slowly trickled down his temples. He pulled at his tie, because it was something he’d seen his father do when he was warm, but the clip on knot came away without relief. He needed _out,out,out_ , and so he stood. His father had been washed away by the sea of condolences, and so he ran.

Patroclus pushed through legs, pants and dresses, wait-staff and tables of food that made his stomach turn. It was: _excuse you_ , and _poor boy_ , and _oh_. It was endless; and yet he fought through. Until his shiny black shoes clapped on the pavers in their opulent back yard, and then crushed grass beneath their soles. He ran until his lungs screamed for air, and the tears that had run hot turned to tracks of ice. Through branches that whipped his face, and shrubs that sent him to his knees over and over again. Patroclus ran until he found the lake beyond the forest, and as he sank to his knees in the damp sand, he screamed.

He screamed until his throat burned, and his spit tasted like pennies. He screamed until no sound came out at all. And then he just stopped; he watched as the wind carried the water up in tiny waves that licked the knees of his pants, and he waited… for what? He wasn’t sure. All Patroclus knew was that he wasn’t ready to wade back into the pageantry he’d left behind, he wasn’t ready to pretend again. He wasn’t ready.

He heaved a sigh bigger than his tiny frame, and rolled off his numb knees to cradle himself in the sand. The lake tickled the fingers of his right hand where it rested just beneath the surface, and his eyes slid closed.

It was then, somewhere in the space between waking and sleep that he heard it. A voice, soft and feminine, a whisper that could have been the wind if he hadn’t heard his name. _Patroclus_ , it said, and he sat straight up.

“Mommy?” he croaked.

_Patroclus_ , it said again. He looked all around but could see no one in the dark. It should have scared him, and yet…

“I’m here.” He whispered back, because it was rude not to answer when someone called for you.

_Look down_. He didn’t understand, but as he did what had been asked of him. The clouds overhead parted, and the moon caught the reflection of something just beneath the water. He reached for it, the cold water soaking the wrist of his suit, and as he turned the object over in his hand; he was confused. It was a small metal disk, larger than a quarter and thicker. He wiped at the metal and squinted as a face appeared in the bronze. It was unlike any of the money he kept in his piggy bank on his dresser; heavy, and not only from the weight. It was treasure, and under any other circumstance he would have been overjoyed; but here, when the world felt both empty and too full, it was just confusing. “What is it?” he asked the voice in the wind.

 _It’s the beginning_ , it said; _And the end_. He looked back down at the face on the coin and watched in awe as it melted into three. Three women stared at him from the small metal surface, and the voice on the wind was joined by two more. _This is a debt owed, a debt paid, Patroclus son of Menoetius_ , they said as one. And before he could ask the question on the tip of his tongue, the world fell away.

End over end he tumbled, through dark, through stars, through spaces so small they felt like they’d crush him, and others so vast he felt like he’d fly away. His suit disappeared, first the jacket, then the pants. His white shirt bleed down his thighs into a dress not unlike the silly ones he’d make from sheets with his mommy when they played hero. His shiny black shoes sprouted holes and tales that crawled up his calf and left his toes open to the dark. And then there wasn’t dark at all but endless light and the warmth of a summer’s day.

With an oomf Patroclus hit the sand once more, and rolled to a stop. For a long moment he stared at the sky. It was so _blue_ , and puffy white clouds moved slowly overhead. Somewhere near him the lake had grown louder, and the air changed; gone was the ever present bitterness of pollution, it was clean if somewhat salty. He took the first deep breath he’d taken since his mother last tucked him in, and closed his eyes; he was so tired. Sleep came for Patroclus without warning, and for once he didn’t dream.

“Ow!” Something hit him square between the eyes, and Patroclus startled awake. On the front of his shirt was a strange purple fruit, and he prodded it with his finger. It was around the moment the fruit hit the sand with _pfftht_ that he realized a few things. His shirt had become a dress, the shoes on his feet sandals, and as he slowly looked left he saw the lake had become an ocean. On shaking limbs he dragged himself to his feet and slowly took in the world. It was a beach, unlike the one he went to with his parents before everything changed. The sand was white, and the water a clear crystal blue that gave glimpses of the fish and coral beneath its waves. He turned to find a town, a grownup, anything at all; but what he found was unexpected. A large pile of rocks sat inland, climbing a cliff face with strange little bushes, trees, and a winding dirt path. Patroclus took a single step, path meant people, people meant finding a way home; though it was the last place he wanted to go. He was struck again, this time in the chest.

“Hey!” he screamed at the air. He hadn’t seen where the flying fruit had come from, but it hurt where it’d struck him. He rubbed at his chest, and looked down at the pink splatter left behind. _He’ll be mad_ , he thought- his father didn’t like when he stained his clothes, even if it wasn’t his fault. It made him angry, why should he have to get in trouble because someone ruined his shirt-dress? He felt the anger well up inside him, zeroing in on the fruit. Patroclus kicked it with all his might and watched roll a foot away, then turned back to the path. _Path means people_ , he told himself again, and people meant finding who ruined his shirt-dress. It meant having someone else to blame.

He stomped his feet in the sand, marching away from the beach when he was struck for a third time; a second pink stain formed just below the first over his heart. Patroclus whipped his head toward where it had come from, and saw nothing; And then…

Long blonde hair behind one of the larger stones at the base of the cliff, and two bright green eyes. He glared his scariest glare, and pointed a menacing finger at emerald orbs.

“That wasn’t very nice.” He told the eyes, and then they grew a nose, long and straight, and then a tiny pink smile on tan skin. A neck followed, then freckled shoulders as the bully stood from their perch. It was a boy, not much older than him, though he looked kind of like a girl. His hair was long, hanging to his shoulders and he wore a white shirt-dress too.

“You’re not supposed to throw things at people, that’s bad manners!” He yelled at the boy, who only shrugged in response. The boy didn’t look concerned, and it made Patroclus even angrier. Who was this boy to ruin his clothes then smile in his face? His mom always told him he wasn’t supposed to hit people, but he decided that this was okay. She wasn’t there, in her absence he heard his father’s voice instead: _Don’t start fights, finish them._ And he would. He may be small, but he was determined to make his father proud.

Patroclus puffed up his tiny chest and came to a stop in front of the other boy, his glare still firmly in place. “You have to say sorry.”

A single golden brow raised.

“Say sorry, or I’ll make you say it,” he threatened.Again, there was only silence. He was so angry tears lined his eyes, but he would not cry, not in front of this boy. They stared at each other, Patroclus and the mean boy in the dress, for an endless moment beneath the hot sun. Finally, with a huff the blonde opened his mouth, but what came out wasn’t an apology, it was a laugh. The kind that started out small and turned into big, that shook your belly and brought tears to your eyes. Patroclus shifted from foot to foot weighing his options, his father would be mad about the stain, angrier still if he knew Patroclus had let someone make fun of him so; _weak_ \- he heard Menoetius in his mind. He drew back his fist, and threw his whole body behind it.

Like a switch the laugh stopped, and a golden hand caught his wrist. The firm grip stopped his fist a hairsbreadth from realigning the stupid straight nose he’d been aiming for. “Say. _Sorry_.” he growled.

“I cannot.” The boy said; and though the words sounded different, he found that he understood.

“Why?” Patroclus asked through gritted teeth.

“Because, I’m not,” the boy responded casually. “And I do not lie.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so a few things:  
> I know that I made Peleus much more caring in this chapter than he was in the books, I'm not sorry. This is an AU and in this chapter the boys are 5 so like, I stand by that choice lol.  
> Also, I chose to characterize Patroclus as a bit more talkative here because otherwise the plot felt blegh. The way the boys talk is inspired by the 5year olds I nanny, so like it may feel a bit OOC. 
> 
> Anyways, to those of you who have taken the time to read this, thank you! I promise the timeline and things will begin making sense in the coming chapters. I have the whole fic mapped out now and so I believe I'll be able to make this Ouroboros timeline make sense but to help a little more: Patroclus was born in the year 2000 (ish?) in America bc I'm American and I wanted the dichotomy between this shithole country and the wonder of ancient Greece. <3
> 
> Hope you enjoy! -Kenzi 
> 
> (all mistakes are my own- holler if I messed something up <3)

The boy kept a steady grip on Patroclus’ wrist as he half dragged, half guided him up the path on the side of the hill. He was sure footed, even without shoes, where Patroclus found himself stumbling. Each time he started to fall the blonde boy was there to keep his feet beneath him. Halfway up the path, the ocean still pulsing beneath the summer sun at his back, he finally asked the question he should have before following a stranger. “Where are we going?”

The boy glanced over his shoulder then turned back to the path before answering, “To see my father.”

“Oh,” Patroclus said, because that made sense. “Good. Then he can call my dad and I can go home.”

“I’m sure we can send a messenger.” The boy replied offhandedly. “Tell me, where is it you’re from…” He trailed off, stopping so that he could face Patroclus, his hand still where it had been. The grass beat his ankles and for a moment he stared unsure of why they’d stopped and why the boy was looking at him like that. “What is your name?”

Oh. “Patroclus,” he replied.

“Pa-tro-clus,” the boy repeated. All three syllables clearly drawn from his pink mouth, it made Patroclus smile- usually no one cared to pronounce it correctly. The boy returned his smile slightly, though his was softer; a bit more questioning. “I’m Achilles.” 

“Oh,” Patroclus replied. “Like the hero. I played him with my mommy before…” The reminder wiped the smile from his face, and he stared down at the ground kicking the seagrass at his feet.

“Before what?”

Patroclus didn’t respond right away, it was too hard to answer the question, to say the words aloud for the first time. He drew in a deep breath, it shook as it filled his lungs. He looked up at Achilles from beneath his lashes and whispered, “She died.” 

The boy scrunched his face, as though his response to such a proclamation required immense thought. Patroclus wondered if he was slow too, like his father told him he was. He hoped not, being slow was bad, and he didn’t wish for anyone else to make their father upset when things took time. “I’m…” Achilles huffed a breath through pursed lips, and a strand of hair rode the exhale in front of his face. “I’m sorry, Patroclus. Is that why you were sad?” 

The question was soft this time, careful. Even as young as they were it seemed Achilles too understood the gravity of loss. Patroclus shrugged; he nodded. He didn’t want to talk about his mother anymore so instead he said, “And someone threw weird fruit at me, and didn’t say sorry.”

Achilles’ lips parted in surprise. “I was defending my land.” The reply was haughty; So big was the statement it rolled his shoulders back and puffed out his chest.

“With fruit?” Patroclus hitched a small brow. Achilles was silly, but maybe it’s what he needed.

“With _Figs,_ ” he replied like it meant something. “It was my only choice, Mother says I’m not allowed to fight anyone.”

“I was sleeping.”

“You could have been pretending.” Achilles said with a sniff. He released Patroclus’ hand for the first time since their journey had begun, and resumed walking. “Come along, Patroclus.”

“Fig head,” Patroclus muttered as he hurried to catch up.

The boys crested the hill, and before Patroclus was a world like he’d seen in books. There was an orchard, a yard full of boys and men playing swords, and behind it all a Castle. Patroclus’ breath caught in his throat, and he came to a stop. How he’d gotten here from the lake, he was unsure; but what lay before him was amazing. “Who’s your dad?” He asked. Something he probably should have done already but it was hard to make big choices when one was so small.

“Peleus,” Achilles replied from a few feet away. He’d stopped walking when Patroclus had, choosing to watch him instead. When Patroclus didn’t reply to that, Achilles took a step closer. “The King.”

“Your dad’s a king?” Patroclus gasped.

“Of course, a favorite of the gods.”

“But-but that means you’re, you’re a-”

Once again Achilles puffed his chest, “Prince, yes. Prince Achilles Pelides of Phthia.” 

“Bless you.” Patroclus replied.

“Excuse me?”

“You sneezed.”

“I did _not._ ” Achilles looked oddly offended. “I said Phthia, this kingdom is called Phthia.”

“Oh…” Patroclus felt his cheeks grow warm, he’d only been trying to be polite. “That’s cool.”

“It’s actually quite warm.” Achilles looked at him like he’d grown a second head. It took Patroclus a moment to understand where he’d lost the Prince.

“No, cool- it’s like ‘nice’. It’s a nice name, even if it sounds like a sneeze.”

“You’re quite rude.” Achilles told him. “And where is it you’re from, Patroclus?”

“D.C.” He replied with a smile. He knew he’d been born somewhere else, but he’d been raised in the nation’s capitol, where all Senators held residence for most of the year.

“The sea? My mother is of the sea, Thetis. Are you a nymph as well then?” Achilles stepped forward again, excited to have a connection it seemed.

“No, fig head. D.C. In America.”

Achilles starred until Patroclus blushed again. It was strange, he must have travelled further than he thought. “Forget it.”

“I shall not,” Achilles said. “Though it sounds like a pretend place, maybe my Father will know so that we can send a messenger.”

Patroclus nodded, but it felt like a lie. Something told him that the King wouldn’t know D.C. anymore than his son had, and as much as it frightened him that he’d left it behind, he felt like he was free. The rules didn’t seem to matter here in Phthia, and though Achilles had stained his dress, he was pleased to have made a friend. He walked confidently past the Prince, “Let’s just find your dad.”

Achilles watched him for a moment longer, then shrugged his gold shoulders. He led them through the palace grounds, around bustling servants carrying ornate trays and baskets of linen, through throngs of boys of all ages and finally he stopped before a large set of wooden doors. “Just,” Achilles held up his hand. “Wait here. Don’t go anywhere, I’ll know if you do, and I’ll find you.” He stated gravely.

“Really?” Patroclus smiled.

“Yes.” Achilles told him. 

“What will you do, throw more figs?” 

Achilles glared. “Stay.” It was a command and it ruffled Patroclus’ feathers, but he nodded anyway. I don’t have _anywhere to go_ , he thought. And upsetting a prince felt like a bad choice.

Achilles stepped through the doors, closing them with a resounding thud. Patroclus kicked at the marble floor, paced back and forth, and watched as a number of grownups walked by him without a second glance. It was strange, the way they carried weapons like knights even though they all wore the same silly dresses. 

Time passed, though he wasn’t sure how long. When he grew tired of standing, Patroclus slid to the ground and rested his head on his knees. His stomach growled and his throat was dry, he briefly considered finding someone with food but dismissed it. Achilles had told him to stay, and for some reason he didn’t want to disappoint the prince.

When the doors finally opened again, Patroclus startled. Achilles stood there with a blank expression, it caused Patroclus to pause. For the first time he realized he should be scared, he’d been dragged to a castle by a prince, and told to wait to see a king. He made no attempt to move until Achilles waved him forward, “Patroclus, get up.”

He did as he was instructed and straightened his dress, then ran clumsy fingers through his curls. His father would be mad to learn he’d looked so messy when meeting someone important, but there wasn’t anything he could really do. With a deep breath he followed Achilles through the doors. There was a large fire burning off to the side of the room, and windows along the other wall. He walked obediently behind the prince until he was brought to a halt before the King.

The King was around his father’s age, though he seemed to be weighed down more than men that age were supposed too. Older somehow that the other men he’d met. He sat on an ornate chair, wearing the same dress style Patroclus had seen the others in. Where theirs had been basic, the King’s dress had gold designs along the edges. Patroclus stared for a long moment, until Achilles cleared his throat loudly. _Oh, right._ Patroclus had seen enough disney movies, one always bows to a King… _But if you have a dress you curtsey,_ he thought. At a loss for how to handle such an immense moment, Patroclus grabbed the edges of his dress and pulled them wide like he’d seen Cinderella do, but bowed at the waist like a Knight because he was a boy. 

Achilles snorted, and the King declared through a throaty chuckle, “Rise, Patroclus.”

When he did he found both men, father and son, staring at him with amused expressions. His cheeks felt hot and Patroclus did his best to hide his embarrassment. The sides of his dress slid from his fingers.

“My son tells me he found you along the shore, is this true?” The King asked. Patroclus nodded, darting his eyes to Achilles. He wondered what else the Prince had said.

“And what were you doing there?” the King leaned forward. He smelled of wine and dirt, of smoke and something comforting Patroclus couldn’t name. 

“Uhm,” he began. 

“Speak up, child.”

Patroclus cleared his throat. “I don’t know, Mr. Your King. Majesty. Sir.”

The King’s lips pulled into his mouth and his eyes closed for a long moment, Patroclus feared he’d angered him. He looked to Achilles for help only to find the Prince with a hand across his mouth, and tears in his eyes. _They’re laughing at me,_ he realized. It made him embarrassed, and kind of angry. He blushed.

“My son tells me your father is looking for you,” The King said when he’d recovered. “As a father myself, I can say that he’s worried. I do not know how I would react if my son should ever go missing.”

Patroclus doubted that his father was worried at all, but he wisely chose not to interrupt. 

“I will have a messenger sent to locate this man, and in the meantime you may take a place with the other boys.”

Patroclus nodded, he knew kindness when he saw it. And though he didn’t understand why he’d received it, he was grateful. The King would find his father, and he’d go home. As much as he didn’t want to return to that empty house, he knew he didn’t belong here. He gave the King a small smile. “Thank you, sir.”

The King nodded and waved his hand. Achilles grabbed him once more by the wrist and dragged him towards the doors. As he reached forward to drag the heavy thing back, the boys heard the King. “Oh, and Achilles?”

“Yes Father?”

“Next time you decide to bring a stranger into the palace, be sure to arm yourself with more than figs.”

Patroclus snorted and the sound echoed around them. Achilles sent him a withering glare before responding simply, “Of course, father.” 

And with that, the two boys stepped left the throne room behind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I literally can't stop writing this tonight, and I've had 90000000 cups of coffee.   
> Here's chapter 3 whooooooop.
> 
> Also, considering making a playlist for this fic. (I kinda did already- like jams I wanna write to for this, but turning it into an actual playlist) because I'm a cancer, the sign. Though my personality is toxic af so whatever. Anyways, if I do I'll post a link because who doesn't like mood music?
> 
> Okay, that's all. Once again all mistakes are my own and I hope y'all are having a lovely night. Thank you for reading!!!  
> -Kenzi

Achilles led him through winding halls of marble and around the people milling about the palace. Patroclus hadn’t spoken since the throne room, resigned to follow the long blonde hair of his new friend as he gave a tour. He showed him every nook and cranny, and ignored the looks from the other boys as they passed. They were in a room that Achilles claimed was his favorite, _Where I have my music lessons, Patroclus_ , he’d said. It was early evening, the sun had begun its decent, and the marble walls glowed like fire where the windows let in its light.

Achilles was playing for him. He sang while he strummed the instrument he’d called a lyre; a strange ‘U’ shaped piece of wood with strings. Patroclus had giggled when he saw it, but as the prince began to sing a song of heroes he found he was unable to look away. Achilles glowed in the dying light, all bronzed and gold. His bright eyes were half lidded, and he had a small smile on his lips as performed from his stool. His voice was high and soft, it reminded Patroclus of his mother’s. She’d sung to him each night before bed; _before._ It’d been a week since he’d last felt such peace. It was enough, this moment. This feeling of closeness not only to this stranger, but to his mother, wherever she was, that he was able to ignore his hunger. Until he wasn’t.

Achilles hit a particularly high note, and Patroclus’ stomach harmonized with a growl. He blushed and looked down when the prince abruptly cut himself off. “You’re hungry.” It wasn’t a question, but Patroclus nodded anyways. “Well let’s go then, it is nearly time to eat.” The relief Patroclus felt was somewhat diminished by the fact that he’d wanted so badly to keep listening, but he couldn’t deny his hunger. Achilles placed the lyre into a box carefully, as though it was his most precious possession, and then turned with a smile. 

The boys walked side by side back through the halls, and as they neared the dining hall, it grew louder. Patroclus was shocked when they entered, the vaulted ceilings of the massive hall were like a church. Rows of tables covered the floor, and at each of them sat boys of all ages. There was food piled across the center of each, and greedy hands piled plates high. As they entered the room grew quiet. What felt like hundreds of eyes turned first to Achilles, it seemed he drew every eye wherever he went, and then to Patroclus. The looks varied, some felt judgmental, others curious. He followed Achilles' naked heels until they reached a table at the center of the room. Boys slid without question, making room for the prince who sat with a smile and a polite “Thank you.”

Patroclus remained standing. While there was enough room next to the prince, he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to sit as well. Achilles reached for a bowl of figs, popping one into his mouth before turning back. “Sit, Patroclus.” He nodded next to him, and so Patroclus did as he was told. The boy who’d been next to Achilles shifted over further without complaint, though he glared at Patroclus when Achilles turned his head. 

He did his best to fade into the background, choosing to stare at his plate or at the prince from the corner of his eye rather than at the other boys. Achilles was telling stories, gesticulating wildly. He had every boy at their table, in the room really, hanging on his every word. When they asked about Patroclus he simply shrugged and replied, “I’ve decided to keep him.” And that was that. 

It was… a bit awkward. He ate with his hands like the others, pulling apart each piece of fruit and meat between his fingers. Each time he lifted his hands to his mouth he thought of his father, how disgusted he’d be if he knew. Manners were important to Menoetius, and one was never to eat without them. Patroclus chewed slowly, savoring the rich food. It was strange, it felt as if it had been days since he’d last eaten, and maybe it had. He’d yet to have an appetite, yet to see food and not feel sick since his mother had passed. It was different here in Phthia somehow, and that was enough. 

Achilles was more than a storyteller, Patroclus learned. When the heavier foods had disappeared and the boys picked at Figs, the prince leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Would you like to see a trick?”

Patroclus nodded, because who was he to tell a prince no? Achilles reached forward to grab three figs from a bowl and turned in his seat to face Patroclus. He placed two in his right hand, and one in his left, and with a toothy grin he threw them. Round and round the figs went, making 7 rotations before the first fell… then the second. When only one remained Achilles blushed and looked down, “I am getting better, soon I will be able to do more.” 

The other boys clapped, whether they were impressed or trying to impress wasn’t clear. Patroclus had seen jugglers, he’d been to a carnival with his mother, but he could tell what a big deal it was to his new friend. “It was amazing,” he said with a smile.

Achilles looked up at him then, big green eyes beneath golden brows. He looked hopeful, happy; proud. He slid the last fig, the one that hadn’t fallen, into Patroclus’ hand. “Thank you.”

The other boys trickled out, in groups of two and three, back to their rooms Patroclus assumed. The sun had long since gone to rest, and the moon was high where he could see it through the window. Servants bustled around them clearing plates and cleaning tables. Achilles yawned, and somehow even that seemed polite. He gave Patroclus a shy smile. “I believe it is time we sleep.”

His yawn had prompted one of Patroclus’ own, though far less graceful. He nodded his head in agreement. The boys stood from the bench, and Achilles began to walk away. Patroclus stood beside the table, unsure of where he was supposed to go. He figured he’d ask one of the servants where he could find a spare bed, but just as the thought occurred to him the prince stopped and turned back. “Are you coming?” he asked.

“Where?” Patroclus responded.

“My room, I’ve had the servants prepare a palette.” Patroclus wasn’t sure what that meant, and his confusion seemed to quell the confidence with which the prince spoke. He shifted on his bare feet, “Unless you’d prefer to sleep with the others…”

Patroclus shook his head. Today had been confusing, and though he wasn’t sure of much anymore, he knew that sleeping with strangers would be too much. Besides, he’d never had a sleepover before, unless he counted the nights his mother and him had slept beneath the sheets in his room; ‘Indoor camping’ she’d called it. The idea of having his first sleepover with a prince was exciting so he rushed to answer, “Your room, please.” 

Achilles nodded, and his smile seemed to light the whole room. Together the boys made their way back through the palace. 

It turned out that a palette meant a piece of wood with a lumpy looking mattress on it. There was a single pillow and a blanket made from some sort of animal, it was the weirdest thing he’d ever seen- but at this point he was ready to sleep on the marble floor if it meant he could lay down. Achilles made his way over to his grand bed as Patroclus settled onto the palette. 

It was uncomfortable, and more than a bit scratchy, but it was warm and that was enough. From his view on the floor Achilles had all but disappeared. He assumed that was his queue, and not wanting to push his luck Patroclus pulled the fur over his shoulders and settled in. He stared aimlessly at the bed before him and wished that his mother was there to sing him a song, to tell him a story, to tell him that he was loved. But she was gone. 

The tears came back then, and Patroclus did his best to hide the sounds of his heartbreak from the prince. He rolled over, drawing the fur over his head and brought both hands to his mouth. His tears were hot where they slid down his cheeks, settling in a cold puddle on the pillow beneath his head. He shook with the force of his sobs but prayed it would not wake his new friend. _Only babies cry at sleepovers_ , he told himself. He squeezed his eyes tighter, and held his breath, he wanted them to stop. He didn’t want to be embarrassed. 

The mattress shifted beside him, and Patroclus went stiff. Slowly the fur was pulled from over his head, and when he opened his bleary eyes, he was face to face with green eyes and blonde hair. Achilles had brought his own blanket and pillow, and made himself at home beside Patroclus. “It is okay to cry,” Achilles whispered. “I won't tell.”

And with that, the dam broke and everything Patroclus had hid came barreling forth. He cried for his mother, for his home, for every piece of him that felt broken and lost; all the while Achilles stayed with him, a silent guardian. 

When the last of the tears had dried on his cheeks, and his eyes felt heavy, Patroclus took a deep breath. The last thing he saw were those watchful green eyes in the light of the moon, and as dreams of his mother swirled up to claim him he heard the prince whisper, “Goodnight, Patroclus.”

_Goodnight_ he wanted to say, but he was already gone.

Patroclus woke with the sun glaring through the open window directly upon his face. He felt worn out, and his head hurt. He blinked slowly only to find himself alone on the palette. He sat up rubbing the sleep from his eyes and wandered around the room, “Achilles?” he called softly, but there was no reply. 

This was his room, so the prince would be back soon enough. Patroclus found a pot to pee in, which made him giggle, and a cup next to a jug of water on a table by the fireplace. When he was done he sat back on his bed resigned to wait. Some time later Achilles crawled back though the window, his blonde hair was damp and he smelled of salt and sea. “Good morning, Patroclus.” He smiled.

“Morning,” Patroclus replied. “Where were you?”

Achilles looks uncomfortable, his gaze darting out the window, then to the palette before he found Patroclus’ eyes once more. “I, Uhm.. I went to see my mother.” The last word was barely a whisper. The surge of jealousy Patroclus felt was cruel, but he found that he wasn’t mad at Achilles. He was glad that his friend still had his mother.

“Oh.” was all he said. 

There was a long silence, before Achilles came over to him. He sat with a huff, close but not touching, and wrapped his arms around his legs. They breathed the same air, listening to the birds outside the window, both at a loss for what to say. Eventually Achilles broke the silence. “I know you miss your mother. Maybe… Maybe you could meet mine sometime.” It was an olive branch; an unnecessary apology for having a mother who still breathed. 

“Yeah.” Patroclus nodded, “Maybe.”

Achilles leaned his shoulder into Patroclus’ and muttered, “Yeah.” They sat like that for a long time.

The door to the room opened, and both boys whipped their head its direction. At first Patroclus could only see a basket of linen, and then a servant appeared behind it. She looked startled to find the boys sitting together on the palette and immediately began to apologize. “I’m sorry, your highness. I did not think you would still be in bed, it is nearly breakfast, I- I will return later.” 

“No need,” Achilles responded softly. He stood and reached out a hand for Patroclus, who took it gratefully. “We are actually going now, thank you.” With that he hauled Patroclus to his feet, and began walking toward the door. The servant girl stepped aside with another bow, and Patroclus hurried at his friend’s heels.

They’d barely made it down the first marble hall of many before they’d find food when there was a loud clinking noise. Both boys stopped and looked down. Between them a familiar bronze coin clattered in a circle, until it fell on its side with a resounding thud. The silence it left in its wake felt monumental. 

Patroclus gasped. 

Achilles looked at him questioningly before he bent down to retrieve it. He held it out to Patroclus, bronze on a golden palm. “You dropped this,” he said with a smile. 

Patroclus’ hands shook as he reached for the coin, but before he touched it he froze. He looked up at his new friend, hand hovering a hairsbreadth above Achilles own. His Green eyes squinted, and the smile Achilles wore so freely faltered. Patroclus glanced back at the coin before throwing himself at the prince. He hugged his friend fiercely and whispered into his ear. “Thank you Achilles.”

Achilles was slow to return the gesture, but as his arms slid around Patroclus’ waist he replied with a confused, “Of course?”

Patroclus withdrew awkwardly from the embrace and blushed. Achilles stared at him a moment, clearly confused by what had brought on that show of affection, then cleared his throat and held out the coin once more. Patroclus did his best to smile reassuringly, he hoped it was convincing, but he wasn’t sure.

With a deep breath and a final glance at those green eyes he whispered, “I’ll never forget you.” _I promise._ And before Achilles could respond, Patroclus grabbed the coin.

It was like it had been before, the world fell away and he tumbled end over end. His strange dress grew back into a shirt, and his shoes closed over his naked toes. His suit slid back on from wherever it had gone in the dark and Patroclus screamed as he was hurtled through space.

He hit the sand with a thud, and opened his eyes to find the sun rising above the lake he’d left behind a day before. The wind lapped at the water before him, and when he looked at his hands he was sad to see he’d lost the magic coin. A tear slid down his face, and he whispered to the wind. “Tell Achilles I’m sorry.” The wind didn’t answer this time.

A twig snapped in the trees behind him and Patroclus whirled around, though he saw nothing, he could feel eyes on him. He backed away slowly, the hair on the back of his kneck rising. _Stranger danger,_ said a voice in his head that sounded like his mother. He started to turn toward the direction of his house, when he heard the dogs. 

It sounded like hundreds, all barking and yelling. There was the sound of a whistle, and from the other side of the shore Patroclus saw a police officer emerge. He turned back to the woods where he’d felt the eyes but it was still empty. 

“Patroclus!” The officer yelled. He turned away from the woods and waved, because he didn’t know what else to do. The Officer and his dog made their way over quickly, and when he reached Patroclus he spoke into the radio on his shoulder. “Dispatch, this is Officer Reyes, I found him.”

The officer turned kind brown eyes on Patroclus, and bent down to his level, his large dog in a vest sat with him wagging his tail. “Hello Patroclus, I’m officer Reyes. We’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Officer Reyes smiled, the look was kind. “Your dad is very worried.” 

Patroclus started to shake, he knew his father wasn’t really worried; angry sure, but it wasn’t as Officer Reyes thought. The officer mistook his fear of his father for another kind, and gathered Patroclus’ small body against his chest. The dog scooted forward and licked the tears from his face as he cried, while Officer Reyes ran a hand over his curls. “Shhh,” he told Patroclus. “You’re okay now, I promise. You’ll be home soon.”

Patroclus nodded his head, the numb feeling settling heavy on his heart once more. The sounds of others in the area grew louder, and the radio on Reyes’ shoulder went on and off. _EMS en route,_ it said. _The Senator will be there shortly._

Patroclus closed his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the 3rd chapter I'm posting tonight. It's also the 3rd I've written tonight, which is wild. I know I need to circle back to clean up grammar, but eh. I was excited, so have this!
> 
> It's big depressing and I want to say TW: mentions of alcoholism, abusive dad (mental and verbal not physical), mention of therapist/ nondescript medicine, oh, and death. yeeeee. I promise nothing is super descriptive because it's all seen through a child's eyes.
> 
> As always, hope you enjoy and thanks for reading <3  
> -Kenzi

He was 6, and it had been a year since his mother died. In her absence the house became a tomb for lost childhood. Menoetius was rarely home, choosing to spend his days in his office and his nights doing what politicians did in the dark.

Patroclus was raised by strangers with good intentions. 

First came the teachers. His private school, staffed with the nation’s brightest in education who did their best to pull the sad boy from his grief with kind words; with praise. When he still did not speak, they called his father. _He needs to talk to someone,_ they said. Menoetius gave them his face of practiced concern, and promised to call before he dragged his son to the car.

“What is wrong with you, boy?” he growled. Patroclus didn’t answer, there were no words to explain.

Next came the doctors, sent to the Senator with the highest recommendations. They were at the top of their field with degrees in ornate frames hung proudly behind cherry wood desks. They took him to rooms full of toys, to the park, to the couch. _Patroclus,_ they said, _Can you draw me a picture?_ Those were his favorite days, when they didn’t ask him for words. He’d spend the hour coloring, always the same green eyes, the same beach, the same blonde hair. _who’s this?_ they’d ask, and Patroclus would smile his secret smile. Some days he wanted to tell them about his magic coin, the boy with the blonde hair and figs, the King and the land that sounded like a sneeze; but the words wouldn’t come. So he’d smile, and do wherever else they asked, as long as it wasn’t for his words. He knew better than to act in a way that would disappoint his father in public. Then Menoetius would pick him up, on the days when the nanny wasn’t available, and he’d hear them talk.

“Anything?” his father would ask.

“No,” they’d say. They’d show him the picture of Achilles and his figs, and his father would scoff in disgust. He’d tell them they were fired, then he’d drag Patroclus back to the car and growl behind tinted windows. “What is wrong with you, boy?”

And still, Patroclus had no answer. 

Finally there was the staff. A cook to make sure he was fed, a maid to clean his room, though Patroclus knew better than to make a mess, a nanny to watch him while his father worked- she lived in the room down the hall; and the silly gardener. He liked those days the best, when the man came to tend his mother’s garden. Patroclus would take his toys out back and watch as the man did his work, humming away to whatever song was playing in his headphones. 

It was always the same, he’d spot Patroclus and make a silly face. Sometimes, he’d make up songs so outrageous Patroclus would laugh until he cried, he still couldn’t speak but it was something. When Patroclus was very lucky, the gardener would show him an overgrown bush and say, “What should we make today?” Patroclus would draw him a picture and the man would use his big scissors to turn the bush into an exact replica. It was a T-Rex, and then it was an obese cat, it was a truck, and then it was nothing at all. Menoetius had found the silly bush and the gardener stopped coming, a team of people who cut the bush into a square every week replaced his friend, and time moved along much as it had.

He was 7, and he’d stopped dreaming of his mother each time his eyes closed. He was in a new class, his father told him that this year would be different, and so Patroclus did his best. He made sure to do well in school, bringing home his best work, and hanging it on the fridge for his nanny to see.

His father decided on a new doctor who gave him a tiny white pill to take each day, it made him fuzzy but his father seemed to like him more when he smiled. So he took it each morning with a cup of milk, and did his best to make Menoetius proud. He still didn’t talk, but it seemed his father had grown used to it.

Fall became winter, became spring, and as Patroclus found what joy there was to find in a house as cold as his, things began to change. Menoetius started coming home at night, sometimes alone, sometimes not. There was a new woman, with long red hair who answered his father’s phone, and made him laugh. Menoetius seemed better. When she came over Patroclus wasn’t allowed out of his room, but sometimes he didn’t listen. He wondered if his father was happy, because the woman seemed to yell a lot whenever she was in the house, but his father was always smiling the next morning; it made Patroclus smile too.

The screaming woman with red hair stopped coming to the house, and Patroclus no longer had to hide beneath the covers in his room and hum himself to sleep at night. But he wished he did, because when the woman stopped his father started drinking more. He heard the maid talk about the bottles piling up, and knew that his father wasn’t happy. He colored him a picture that day in school and slid it onto his father’s desk, but the morning after he saw it in the trash.

He was 8, and he’d finally made a friend. But then that friend made different friends, and one day at lunch he found Patroclus playing behind the swings. It was show and tell, so Patroclus had brought his favorite toy- a warrior with a spear and a golden helmet. He wore a dress not unlike those he’d seen men wearing in that dream he’d had about the magic coin. He held a shield, and he had long blonde hair that reminded him of the dream prince. His friend had tried to take the warrior from him, but Patroclus wouldn’t let go. 

“Give it to me,” Clysonymus had demanded. It was so unlike his friend, but because he hadn’t asked nicely and because it was his favorite, Patroclus spoke for the first time since he’d been found beside the lake.

“No.” His voice cracked with disuse. 

Clysonymus grabbed for the toy, and Patroclus dodged. His friend was acting so different, it was confusing and made Patroclus angry. It was then he saw the other boys watching; laughing. That had been it, and when his former friend made a second grab, Patroclus pushed him as hard as he could. He was smaller, but his anger had given him strength and Clysonymus fell down. The crack as his arm made as it broke echoed across the playground. Menoetius was called to the school to pick him up, and that night his favorite toy joined the bottles in the trash.

He was 9, and his father was on the campaign trail. Menoetius dragged Patroclus around Maryland, using him to woo voters. The single father who lost his wife, who’s son had gone missing and then had been found, though he was forever changed. He was a man devoted to a boy who’d suffered a trauma so great he could no longer speak, who’d survived the loss of his wife, and never once let down the people of his home state. The man who would fight for the middle class like he fought for his country, protect them like he did his small child. Patroclus smiled when he was supposed too, waved to the crowds, and let old ladies who smelled like storage pinch his cheeks. 

Menoetius won that year. And as the balloons fell from the ceiling, and people who’d worked hard for him cheered, Patroclus pushed through to find his father before he made his victory speech. He tapped his fathers back, and Menoetius turned to give him an exasperated look. 

“What?” he snapped, he was important and he had to thank people. His flag pin shone in the light, and his blue tie made his tan skin glow. Patroclus smiled up at his father, and wiggled his fingers. _Come here_ they said. People were watching, and so Menoetius smiled his practiced smile and bent down.

“Congratulations, Daddy.” Patroclus whispered, and for a moment time stopped. 

His father’s eyes flashed, and at first he seemed angry but he scooped Patroclus up and hugged him tight. Cameras snapped all around, but Patroclus didn’t care; His father was smiling and holding him, and that was all that mattered. Instead of setting him down, Menoetius carried him on his hip to the microphone where he gave a rousing speech. People cheered, it was magic, and both father and son waved. There was music and dancing; it was the happiest day he could remember in a long time. And when the speech was over, Menoetius carried Patroclus away from the cameras, where he promptly dumped him in the arms of a young staffer. 

“Take him home, the nanny is waiting.” And with that his father walked back out to the cheering crowd.

Patroclus cried in the back of the car as the stranger drove him home in silence, and when they pulled up to the front of his house, his nanny was waiting on the steps. Patroclus unbuckled his seat-belt, and the man said quietly “I’m sorry.” Patroclus got out and shut the door without answering, then ran into his nanny’s arms. The car drove away, and his father didn’t come home for two more days. 

He was 10, and school was going as well as ever. His favorite class was music, where his teacher would show them how to play different instruments, and how to sing pretty songs. It was the closest he felt to his mother. It was a Tuesday, and his teacher was playing the guitar. He was singing a sad song, and his voice was rough as he played.

_One of these days  
Letters are gonna fall_

_From the sky telling us all,  
To go free_

_But until that day  
I’ll find a way_

_To let everybody know  
That you’re coming back_

_You’re coming back for me_

Patroclus watched his fingers fly over the strings and a memory of a dream, long since buried, clawed its way to the surface. A funny U shaped instrument, and a voice high and soft, like angels. He gasped, and closed his eyes but his reverie was interrupted. His teacher stopped playing when a knock sounded at the door. The principal walked in and looked first to Patroclus, then to his teacher. She made her way over, whispering something in his ear. His teacher took a deep breath and both adults turned to lock their eyes on him. 

His heart sped up, beating so hard he thought his chest would crack. It was one of those moments, where all the details fell away. Years from now he’d remember the song, and then the look on his principal’s face- watery, brittle; a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Patroclus, I need you to come with me sweetheart.” She said softly. Patroclus stood on numb legs as his classmates _oooo’d,_ in the way all children did when they thought another was in trouble. Their teacher snapped his fingers, “Quiet.” he barked.

It took all Patroclus had to put one foot in front of the other. He was nearly at the door when his teacher placed a large hand on his shoulder. Patroclus froze but didn’t turn around. “I’ll be here, if you need anything.” It was that sentiment, rich with concern, that sealed Patroclus in his panic. His breath came faster and the world tilted around him, he nodded his head without looking, then walked out the door.

He was 10 when his principal led him into her office where he saw two police officers and his nanny waiting. “Pat,” his nanny whispered. There were tears pouring freely from her eyes, she grabbed him, and held him tight. “Sweetheart, there’s been an accident.” She said.

Patroclus was 10 when he spoke for the first time in front of his teachers. “Is he dead?” he asked.

His nanny squeezed him tighter, his principal said she was sorry, and the police officers nodded solemnly. 

The officers drove with their lights on in front of his nanny the entire way back. 

Red.

Blue.

Red.

Blue.

They took him home where he walked straight into his room, crawled beneath his blankets, and finally let himself cry. _It’s strange,_ he thought. How he could grieve so deeply for a man who only ever broke his heart. He cried like he did the night his mother died, and then he fell into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Lyrics: "Letters from the Sky" by Civil Twilight


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I be cleaning my house? probably.  
> Do I need to go to the grocery store? definitely.
> 
> Am I avoiding the world because I can't stop producing this mediocre fic instead? you bet your ass.

He smelled like pickles, and there was a wrinkle in his favorite suit. He looked softer then, gone was the disappointment that cut creases around his mouth and between his brows. Patroclus reached in to touch his fathers hand. It was different than it had been the last time. He stood over his father for what felt like hours just watching, no one felt the need to tell him to sit back down. Behind him the church was packed with other Senators and staffers, with reporters and friends. The cameras clicked away as he leaned forward to lay a kiss on his father’s brow.

Patroclus took a deep breath and turned to walk back down the stairs. He took his seat, and it was easier this time. He didn’t have to climb up into his seat, he’d grown taller since he last sat in the front row of the Cathedral. 

His nanny sat close, and as he began swinging his legs, she didn’t tell him to stop. She slid a comforting arm around his shoulders and held him as the tears fell. The priest talked for a long time, and then others took his place. Patroclus listened with rapt attention to the them speak; They told stories of a man Patroclus had never known- one that he thought he too would have loved in such a way, if he’d ever had the chance to know him. And when the time came to stand, to make his way to the car he knew would smell like whiskey, to the graveyard where he’d hold the earth in his hands and sprinkle over the box, Patroclus froze. 

It was almost funny how his suit grew too tight again, much as it had the last time; like it knew. How the sweat that began beneath his curls tracked the same path as their predecessors. Patroclus reached up to pull at his tie, because it was what men did when they were too hot, he’d seen his father do it _before_. 

It was a real tie this time, not one for children that came away with a snap. He fought the fabric with growing panic, and when the loop was finally large enough to slip over his head, he threw it to the floor. His nanny watched him with a look in her eye that said she was sorry, that she understood. A look he’d grown used too over the last week, over the last five years. And as she bent to retrieve it, Patroclus rolled his head back to stare at the ceiling.

The Cathedral was swimming, with its gilded edges and ornate paintings. Soft colors bled into one another; And the holy scenes became an impressionist painting of a peace he couldn’t find. _Run_ the voice in his head was that of a prince he’d met in a dream. Patroclus took a single step around the end of the pew; And then another. 

The time between the clip of his shiny black shoes against the marble floor grew steadily shorter, until he was running again and his breaths were loud in his ears. 

Patroclus ran, past the sea of black clad mourners crowding the door. Past the cameras and the priest in white. His eyes burned, and his heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest. Patroclus pumped his arms, he poured all that he had left into moving faster; further. _Away,_ he thought. _I need to get away._

He rounded a corner at the end of the hall and his face bounced off the stomach of a tall man. Large hands steadied his shoulders, but Patroclus didn’t have the words to apologize. The man didn’t ask. His hands slid away and Patroclus took off once more without a second thought.

The Cathedral was like a maze, doors that led gods knew where, and halls that appeared in his peripherals seemingly at random. Patroclus took them when it felt right to do so, and ran past others for no reason at all. 

_Keep going,_ the voice said… And he did.

His shiny shoes clattered to a stop when the hall he’d come down ended with two doors. ‘Exit’ was written in glowing green over the door on the left, and Patroclus considered it- but the world was too loud. He raised a shaking hand to try the door on the right, and exhaled when the knob turned in his palm. 

The door opened to a storage room of sorts, full of boxes and bins that held whatever it was a church needed to function. Patroclus walked carefully through the mess until he found a space just big enough for him to hide. He slid down the back wall, between a row of white robes and a large metal box. 

For the first time in days he was truly alone, and as terrified as he was to be so, he found he could breathe again. It was dark, almost silent. The only sounds in the room were that of his own breaths, he drew his knees to his chest and did all he could to calm himself. 

He cried for a long time, with his arms wrapped over his head. Until there were no tears left and his throat burned; until the numbing peace that came with absence seeped into his bones, and his heavy eyes fell closed. And then he slept, at least he thought he did. He saw faces in the dark behind his eyes, his mother’s smiling one as she skipped rocks on the lake, his father’s angry one in the back of a car; green eyes and gold hair, pink lips and skin that glow-

“Patroclus!” He startled awake, heart pounding. “Patroclus!” his name again, from somewhere in the hall outside the room. It wasn’t a voice he recognized, so Patroclus remained quiet, pulling himself tighter and praying he could just disappear. The door opened with a creak and a shaft of light from the hall so bright he swore he’d be found. 

The man said his name again. 

Patroclus held his breath with both hands over his mouth, and leaned heavily into the robes. He wasn’t ready to go, because leaving meant the world would change. His parents had left him with money, but no relatives to care for him; No plan should the worst happen. 

He’d met the nice lady who said she would find him a new family, one to care for him and keep him safe, but he didn’t want them. So he held his breath until his heart pounded in his ears and his lungs screamed for air, until the man who called his name closed the door with a click, and the shaft of light disappeared.

With a _whoosh_ Patroclus took a deep breath and choked on it. The world leveled, and so he took another; his head hit the back wall with a quiet thud and he slumped into the soft fabric to his right. The movement caused the robes on the rack to jostle, and then-

_Clink_

The blood drained from his face as he listened to the sound of metal circle over itself until it stopped with a thud far too loud for the room. _No,_ he thought. There was no way, and yet he could feel it. 

_Please,_ he prayed. 

The room seemed to hold its breath; and there, in the absence of all things, the voices he’d heard only once before whispered to him once more. _Pick it up_ they said.

Patroclus gasped. 

_Please,_ he prayed. 

His fingers traced the gritty floor with excruciating slowness, and he continued his litany as he slid them beneath the rack. Back and forth he slid them across the ground until he felt it… The cold bite of metal. 

Patroclus closed his eyes tight, _Please don’t be a dream._

He grabbed the coin.

End over end, the feeling much the same as it was in his memories. Of being stretched and pulled through the dark, then thrown out to float in the abyss. His shoes grew holes for a second time, and snaked their way up his calf; this suit, though bigger than the last, broke away much as the first had and joined the nothing that surrounded him. His crisp white shirt tales reached for his knees. One sleeve fell away to bare his shoulder. _Chiton,_ came the voice of his teacher, a name for the silly dress he knew covered him now. 

And as he spiraled through the universe, Patroclus couldn’t help but smile.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back (back, back)  
> Back again.
> 
> It's me, but also it's Patroclus so that's cool  
> I did my dishes and then decided to write again. I may be losing my mind.
> 
> Anyways, as usual all mistakes are my own. Also I used Therapon in this chapter in a way that I''m 99% isn't grammatically correct so let's all just pretend it is okay? Dope.
> 
> As always, thank you for taking the time to read and comment. I love you all <3  
> -Kenz

Patroclus landed in a heap on a cold stone floor. The room was dark around him, much as it was before. He stood on shaking legs, and was unsurprised to find his hands empty once again. 

The room smelled of olives, where before in the church it had only been musty and stale. He moved carefully around the large ancient jars and wooden crates, with shuffling feet and patting fumbling hands. Patroclus patted along the wall until he found the cold metal latch that held the door closed, and with a deep breath he pulled; The door opened with a creak to reveal a hallway.

The walls were a warm marble that danced in the light from the torches he knew would be hanging in even spaces along them. It was this, the light of the fire which cast his shadow to the ceiling, that triggered the memories of _before_. Of the dream that wasn’t a dream, the secret he’d locked away and only dared think of when blonde hair caught his eye. He took a step into the hall, a single thought on his mind: _Achilles._

He pulled the door closed behind him as softly as he could manage, and turned to follow the hall, sure it would lead somewhere he could find his friend. 

Would the prince remember him, or would he too think Patroclus was a dream? He faltered then, only a few feet from the storage closet he’d left behind. _Why would he remember me?_ It had been five years, and though he’d been there for Patroclus on one of his darkest days, it didn’t mean what they’d shared had meant anything to him.

_No,_ he told himself. He couldn’t think like that. Achilles was his first friend, and prince or not he would be his friend still. Patroclus was determined to make it so. He took only a second more to straighten his chiton, and make sure his eyes were dry, then rolled his shoulders back and continued on. 

The hall was eerily empty as he moved, though he knew it was only a matter of time before he was found by a servant or one of the boys who lived in the palace. He prayed they’d take the time to listen to him, to let him explain- or at least try, and that the King would be as kind as he’d been the first time. It was a long shot, but it was all that he had to go on.

Patroclus turned right down another long hall, and he passed a large open window that showed the moon hanging heavy in the night sky. It was beautiful, this place. No light from the city to drown out stars, instead each tear in the dark shone brightly overhead. He continued on until he heard it, the soft lilting voice of a singer- the strum of a lyre. 

His heart leapt into his throat, and his hands shook. Patroclus chased the sound, sandals slapping against the stone floor, and with every step closer his smile grew.

The voice was coming from behind another large door, and the light of a fire flickered in the gap where it hung too high above the ground. 

Patroclus took a breath to steady himself, and ran his fingers through his curls before carefully reaching for the door. _Please remember me,_ he prayed; and turned the knob.

The door swung open on lazy hinges, and the voice stopped singing though nimble fingers still plucked at strings. Patroclus couldn’t help his smile as he took in the boy draped across a couch. His blonde hair was longer than it had been the first time he’d seen it, and it tumbled in messy gold waves about his head. He lay with one leg bent at the knee and the other carelessly swinging off the edge. 

His feet were bare, and the chiton he wore was gilded with gold thread that caught the light in a way that made him sparkle like the sun. 

Slowly the boy flopped his head over, fingers still carelessly strumming, and turned his half lidded green eyes up to the door. Patroclus couldn’t help it, he smiled so big he swore it would eat his face.

Achilles blinked at him slowly, not unlike a cat. 

“Achilles,” Patroclus breathed the name like a prayer.

A single gold brow lifted, and it was that indifference on the Princes’ face that wiped the smile from Patroclus’ own. It was as he feared, what had been a monumental event for him- a day of so many firsts, clearly hadn’t been the same for the boy before him. 

Achilles yawned, and then finally spoke. “What’s your name?” He scanned Patroclus from head to toe in a way that both stripped him bare, and seemed to find him wanting. Patroclus struggled to speak, his father’s voice was loud in his mind telling him to _just open your damn mouth and talk._ He shook his head once, and took a step back. He needed to find the closet, find the coin and go home. It had been a mistake to think that this was freedom, it was yet another place where he was unimportant; forgettable. 

Achilles noticed his hesitation, and gave him a bored look. “You’ve interrupted my practice, so the least you could do is tell me your name.”

It was another long moment where he stared, doing his best to stop the tears that wanted to spill. Patroclus licked his lips, and swallowed the lump in his throat. “Patroclus,” he whispered. 

Nimble fingers froze on ancient strings, and in the stillness between the two boys, the pop of the yew-wood fire was the only sound. 

Slowly, as though moving through tar, Achilles set his lyre down on the floor- it was precious to him, that much Patroclus remembered- and sat up to face the door.

“What did you say?” Achilles’ voice was a steady demand, but his eyes flashed in a way that made clear the wrong answer would bring about an unfortunate end. Patroclus’ breath doubled, and his jaw flapped like a fish.

With lethal grace the Prince rose from the couch and closed the distance between them. Neither boy dared look away. “What. Did. You. Say.” 

“P-Patroclus you fig head!” Patroclus’ voice cracked. “My name is Patroclus, and you’re Achilles. And I- I know you don’t remember but I-”

His wild ranting was cut off with an _oomf_ as the Prince threw himself at Patroclus. Strong arms wrapped tightly around his neck, and blonde hair tickled his face. Though he faltered a little, he found his balance and brought his arms around his friend. He laughed, and Achilles did the same. 

After a moment the Prince released him, drawing back to lay hands on each of Patroclus’ shoulders and scan him head to toe once more. “The Gods took you,” he said in a shaky whisper. “You were there, and then you were gone. I- I looked everywhere for you, the beach, the palace. I even asked my mother, she told me to forget, but I could not.”

Achilles’ smile was radiant; contagious. “But you didn’t forget.” Patroclus said, and even though it wasn’t a question his friend answered it as though it had been.

_“Never.”_

“Me either, not- not really.”

Achilles was smiling as he grabbed Patroclus’ hand, “Let us go to my room, we can talk more freely there. And in the morning I shall take you to see my father, for even he can not argue when the Gods have returned such a gift.”

“I’m not a gift,” Patroclus laughed and knocked his shoulder against Achilles. The boy pulled them to a stop, and turned to him with a deadly serious expression.

“You are a gift, Patroclus. A Therapon given by the Gods.”

“Oh,” he replied. He’d never been a blessing to anyone, and though he didn’t know what a Therapon was, he felt it was a good thing, and so he smiled. “Okay.”

Achilles nodded, as if glad that had been finalized and pulled him along. Patroclus followed Achilles through the palace, drinking in the sight of high marble ceilings and the smell of the ocean he knew lay just a little ways off. Achilles’ questions came all at once, a flood that threatened to sweep Patroclus away. It seemed for every step they took towards his room, he found another thing to ask. 

When they finally came to Achilles’ room he closed the door behind him and dropped his hand. As Patroclus scanned the room he’d seen only once before, he found that not much had changed. The fire was warm to his right, and a salty breeze blew through the open windows. There was a dresser with a cup and a jug of water next to a large metal bow. His eyes danced across the place and stopped only when they found the place on the floor where once there had been an uncomfortable palette. It was empty now. 

He looked back to the giant bed befitting the Prince at his side, and as Patroclus resigned himself to sleep on the floor, Achilles shifted from foot to foot. 

“You can share mine tonight... If you wish. Then tomorrow I can have your bed made up, once we’ve informed my father of your return.” 

Patroclus nodded somewhat awkwardly and followed the prince. _A bed was better than a floor any day._ They settled on opposite sides, pulling furs and blankets around until each was comfortable; Then Achilles turned to face him. “You haven’t answered a single question, Patroclus. Do not think I did not notice.” 

Patroclus laughed, “You didn’t give me a chance!”

Achilles waved graciously about, as though to say _The floor is yours,_ and Patroclus shook his head. “Okay, okay fine. What was your first question?”

“What happened when you took the drachma? You disappeared, where did you go?”

And so Patroclus told him, of tumbling through the world and of a land far different from this. Of the five years he’d lived without his friend. He paused his story occasionally to explain pieces of his world Achilles didn’t understand.  
_“What’s a car?”_

_“It’s like a metal box with wheels but it moves by itself without horses.”_

Achilles nodded each time he had to explain something like that, like it made sense, though Patroclus knew he probably sounded crazy.

He told him about the lake and looking for the coin, about his nanny and the silly gardener, about the doctors and about his favorite teacher. He told him about Clysonymus and his favorite toy, and how lonely he’d been after that. 

And then he told him about his father, what he’d been like in those years. How lonely it had been for him, and how he stopped speaking because he couldn’t find his words. About how hard he tried to make his father proud, and how it never seemed to be enough. He cried as he shared these dark truths, and Achilles listened intently. He didn’t judge Patroclus for this, didn’t call him weak or interrupt, but his face grew angrier with each tear that fell.

Finally he told him of his father’s funeral, and how he’d found the drachma beneath the robes. About the voices on the wind and how he’d come to be in a storage closet somewhere in the palace. “I never forgot you,” he told Achilles. “But I thought…”

“You thought?”

“I thought as I grew up that maybe you had been a dream, that I’d made it up because I’d been scared. But I’m back now, and this doesn’t feel like pretend.”

“It’s not.” Achilles assured him, “I promise you this is real.” 

Patroclus smiled then, and it grew until it morphed into a yawn. The hour was late, and the sky had begun to turn grey signaling the sun's rise would be sooner than either boy was ready for. As they lay their heads down on pillows side by side, Achilles smiled at Patroclus. “I am glad you have returned to me,” he whispered. 

Patroclus' eyes were heavy, and each blink was longer than the last. “Me too.” He whispered.

“Sleep now, Therapon. I’ll be here in the morning.” 

Patroclus nodded his head and as he drifted off, he heard Achilles as he had all those years before. “Goodnight, Patroclus.”

“‘Night.” He murmured back.

He slept soundly beside his friend, with a smile on his lips.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayooooo, here's what's up next.
> 
> I work m-th, so I don't expect to put up quite as many chapters this week (as I'm still writing them).
> 
> Also, I did make a playlist as requested. It's in no particular order, more so what I've been using to write. I'll add songs as I go if anymore come to mind. So here's that: 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/24T9rWixvrtryWvWWRAExk
> 
> As always, thank you for taking the time to read/ comment/ kuddos. y'all are fucking amazing and I love you so much <3
> 
> -Kenzi

Something tickled his nose, and Patroclus grumbled before slowly peeling open his tired eyes. He was met with a sea of green, inches from his own. The light from the window gilded the blonde hair that fell around them like a curtain of liquid gold. Achilles was hovered over him, nose to nose, with a smile that lit the world stretched across his face. 

Patroclus froze, it was only his second sleepover and he wasn’t sure if this was a customary wake up. “Oh good, you are up!” The Prince giggled and Patroclus gave him a hearty shove.

Achilles rolled over laughing like it had been the funniest thing in the world, and Patroclus grumbled a half hearted insult, “Fig head.” He reached for a pillow and swung it.

Achilles sprung up like a ninja, and landed on his feet before the pillow could make contact, and began to jump up and down punctuating each word. “Up! Up! There is so much to do!” 

With every bounce Patroclus’ resolve crumbled, until he too found himself in a fit of giggles. It was ridiculous, and amidst it all he wondered at how Achilles was allowed to be so loud, so apologetically nonsense, without getting in trouble. _Prince Privileges,_ he suspected. 

When he took too long to leave the comfort of the furs he’d burritoed himself in, Achilles leapt from the bed like Superman, the blankets trailing him like a cape. Patroclus glared halfheartedly before following him out. 

“Ugh, fine.” He made his way to the bucket so that he could pee, and ignored the heat in his cheeks at doing something so private in front of a friend. When he was done, he looked for somewhere to wash his hands only to remember there were no sinks. _Gross,_ he thought, but there was nothing to do. He wiped his hands uselessly across his wrinkled chiton and turned to stare at his friend. “I’m up. Now what?”

“Well first,” Achilles threw a pile of fabric at him, and it landed on his head before sliding slowly down his face; much to the Prince’s amusement. “You must change. A Prince’s Therapon should never resemble old laundry.” Patroclus stared at the fabric, then at his chiton, and found himself at an impasse. On each occasion that he’d come to Phthia the chiton had made itself. What he was currently staring at was little more than a long rectangular piece of white fabric, inlaid with delicate gold leaves on the edges. He let it fall to it’s full length and admired the detailing, it was beautiful- clearly one of Achilles’ own. He held one corner up and gave the prince a helpless look.

“I, uhm… How do I?” He wiggled it with a self deprecating smile. Achilles’ eyes widened slightly, and a little pink tinged his cheeks. 

“Oh,” he said solemnly. “Of course. You do not wear chitons in D.C.”

Patroclus snorted a laugh, and Achilles cleared his throat. It was awkward, and just as he was about to say he could figure it out, _it can’t be that hard,_ Achilles stepped forward with an expectant hand and downcast eyes. “It is easier with help.” 

“What do I do?” Patroclus asked, suddenly uncomfortable. He’d been dressing himself since he was 3, having help made him feel like a baby, and he could almost taste his father’s disapproval. 

“Just hold this bit here,” Achilles handed him a corner and stretched the rectangle out. “And I will help, then you can slide the other one down.”

“Right.”

As it turned out, wrapping one’s first chiton was nearly nonsensical. Patroclus spun and spun, there were elbows, and more than one moment when he’d nearly given up. In the end, he looked like a character from a play. His shirt-turned-chiton lay in a pile of linen by the door, and his new one shone brightly against his warm brown skin. Achilles stepped back and gave him a considering look, his golden browns drawn down as he tapped a finger against his chin once; twice. “Ah!” 

He ran towards what looked to be a dresser, rifling through a drawer until he made another sound of victory and turned around. “It is important that they see you are with me,” He declared and raised what looked like a circle of metal with a long needle up to Patroclus’ shoulder. Achilles slipped both along the fabric bunched over Patroclus’ heart, and stepped back with a smile. “That will do wonderfully.”

The metal was heavy and cold where it touched his bare shoulder, and Patroclus feared losing something that looked so expensive. What he’d thought was a circle was actually little leaves in the shape of a sideways ‘c’ with the pin running through the center. He’d never had something so beautiful before, and couldn’t help but to run his finger along the delicate work. “Thank you, Achilles.” He said shyly, sending his friend a soft smile.

Achilles shrugged, though he was clearly pleased with himself. “So, first we must find my father, then breakfast-” Patroclus was relieved to know food was on the horizon, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten anything. _Food,_ he thought and then, _I wonder what they did with all the food?_ His father’s service, if anything like his mother’s would have meant food enough to feed an army, piled high in the kitchen of his father’s house. He wondered if anyone ate it, or if it too just sat until the maid threw it away like before. “-And then I wish to show you the palace again, since it has been so long since you were last here.”

“Cool,” Patroclus replied easily. He guessed it didn’t matter what he did. He was far from the darkness of home, and in the company of a prince. If Achilles wanted him to run around all day instead of learning or, whatever it was they did here, that was fine with him.

“Cool.” Achilles repeated with a smile.

Achilles led him back through bustling halls of marble to the throne room. As his eyes drank in the world he’d only remembered glimpses of, Patroclus found himself floored by the beauty of it all over again. It was spectacular, the way the sun shone through open windows, the smell of the sea and of earth so pure and unlike what he’d been used to. The people they passed all seemed so fierce, so strong. They were a mosaic of cream linen contrasting on olive skin, of warm ochre tones and sharp brown eyes; They were long hair and intricate braids, dusty feet and lithe muscles. They were beautiful in an honest way, without all the colors on their faces; free in flowing fabrics so different from the world he’d left behind. The people of Phthia were a dream made flesh, and Patroclus prayed he’d never wake up.

They approached the large doors that led to the throne room, and Achilles nodded at a man who stood guard by the door. Unlike last time, he opened the door and turned over his shoulder to look at Patroclus expectantly. There was no waiting, no separation; and so Patroclus followed Achilles, like he’d done before, like he suspected he always would. 

As he crossed the threshold of the throne room, a thought came to him unbidden, profound, irrevocable: _I would follow him anywhere._ And once it was given words, secret as they were in Patroclus’ mind, the world shifted; settled. For as much pain as he’d experienced in his 10 years, he found the promise of a friend like Achilles a worthy foundation upon which to build a life.

Achilles strode confidently up to the throne where Peleus sat. He seemed older than in Patroclus’ memories, which made sense. It was the kind of aging that cut deep lines into faces, though it was clear in his sharp eyes the spirit of a warrior was alive and well. He wore the topography of his face proudly, a reminder to all who entered that he had _lived._ Where Menoetius’ face was a study in how disappointment and anger could carve a face, Peleus’ was a portrait of laughter lines. It made him smile.

“Father,” Achilles began when Peleus looked up at the intrusion. His eyes were drawn to his sons like a magnet, the blonde had that effect, before sliding them to Patroclus. He showed no sign of recognition which hurt more than Patroclus would care to admit; though he didn’t appear hostile, only curious.

“Achilles? Who’s this?” He gestured at Patroclus, and raised a thick brow high on his forehead. 

“Patroclus, Father. The Gods have returned him to me.” Achilles said with a smile. He dragged Patroclus up until they stood shoulder to shoulder before the king. Peleus’ eyes widened as he looked Patroclus up and down. When they returned to his face, the King smiled slightly.

“No curtsy this time, son? I am truly disappointed.” His tone was mocking, and Achilles slapped a hand over his mouth. 

Patroclus felt his cheeks burn; not only had he forgotten to properly greet the king, it turned out his rather embarrassing first meeting hadn’t been forgotten. While he was pleased to be remembered, he wished it hadn’t been for such a stupid thing. 

“I’m sorry, your majesty.” He said stoically, bending deep at the waist and holding it long enough that Achilles slapped the back of his head. He stood, rubbing at the ache and shot a glare at his friend. The King just laughed; it was deep and rich as it echoed off the vaulted ceiling.

“Enough of that, Patroclus. Tell me, where have you been? My son was quite distraught when last you left.”

Patroclus looked helplessly to Achilles. As grateful as he was that his friend believed him, he doubted the King would be as receptive. “Uhm, well…” He started.

“His father came for him, and did not give him a chance to say goodbye. But he is in Tartarus now, and so the Gods have sent Patroclus back.” It was… close to the truth if Patroclus turned it sideways, but far enough away that he was shocked Achilles had said such a thing. He didn’t lie, didn’t care for speaking in a way that was anything other than blunt honesty. Patroclus prayed his face didn’t betray his shock.

“Tartarus?!” Peleus looked surprised by the proclamation for a moment, and Patroclus wondered if that word was like Hell. It seemed fitting, even if his heart constricted at the idea of his father in the bad place. The King nodded slowly, digesting the information before turning those quick eyes on Patroclus. “I see. Tell me, _Patroclus..._ Where did your father take you that my messengers could not find you?”

_CrapCrapCrap._ Patroclus took a deep breath and kept his eyes on the King. He could not look at his friend, could not make any move that would betray his lie. “Nowhere in particular. My father, Menoetius, was a-a traveler. We never stayed in any place for long, but when he… when he died, I didn’t have anywhere else to go. My mother is gone, and I don’t have any family, so I-I came here. To see Achilles.”

Peleus watched him. His heart was beating so fast and he knew his cheeks were red, it was the most he’d talked to anyone who wasn’t Achilles in so long he was utterly exhausted. _Please, please let me stay._ The King looked at his son again, and then sighed. 

“I am a man with many sons, a father of the forgotten if you will. As you have clearly developed a kinship with my son, I suppose you cannot go.” Achilles smiled, his white teeth shone and in that moment Patroclus swore the clouds parted so that the Gods could bathe him in gold. He was otherworldly in his happiness as he threw his arms around Patroclus, who couldn’t help but return his joy.

“Thank you, your highness.” Patroclus said, the words muffled in the crook between Achilles’ shoulder and head.

“Yes, yes. I’ll have a servant prepare you a palette in the boys dormitory and you can begin training with them tomorrow.” Peleus said with a smile.

Patroclus stiffened; training. He wasn’t sure what it meant but if it was anything like he’d seen when he was young he knew it would involve swords. The idea, while exciting, scared him a bit. He didn’t enjoy fighting- throwing fists felt too close to Menoetius’ brand of rage that he’d done all he could to separate himself from it. _It’ll be fine, Achilles is here. It will be fine._ He told himself.

“Actually Father,” Achilles said with one arm still draped across Patroclus’ shoulders. “He can not train with the others, nor can he sleep in the dormitory.”

“Oh? And why is that.” Peleus seemed amused again.

“Because, Patroclus is to be my Therapon, therefore he must remain with me. That is the way.”

“Your Therapon, hmm?” There was that word again, the one Achilles used with such reverence. Patroclus smiled though it felt more like a grimace, he needed to find out what _exactly_ his friend was getting him into.

“Yes.” Achilles stated. His voice was firm, a declaration. 

“Why him?” It was a fair question, and Patroclus wondered too why he’d been chosen to be a therapist-thingy. It seemed like a big deal, something far more than he deserved. Achilles took the question in that way of his, rolling it over in his mind; always treating things with importance.

“Because… He is surprising.” Achilles settled on.

“Surprising?” the King repeated.

“Yes. I find that Patroclus knows many things which I do not, and I think the Gods chose him for me because of this.”

“That is a bold proclamation.” Peleus said. Achilles didn’t flinch, though Patroclus felt that even though most of the conversation had gone over his head, the way they talked about his worth was somewhat humiliating. “I mean no offense when I say that he looks more like a healer, less like a warrior. Tell me what will you do when you are off to fight? What will you tell the other boys, those stronger and more prepared for this honor, when they ask why it is him?”

Again Achilles paused. He looked away from his father to Patroclus, emerald eyes searching. Patroclus felt horrible, it was true what the King had said, though he hadn’t done so unkindly. Whatever it was that Achilles was declaring him, he assumed he was expected to choose someone who was _more_. He understood, it wasn’t as though he was unaccustomed to disappointing fathers. He waited for the Prince to find truth in his father’s words and change his mind, but Achilles only smiled.

“A healer can be equally powerful in war, for without them armies would fall. Whether he chooses to fight, to heal, or to play music I know my mind will be unchanged.” Achilles declared. “I do not need a strong companion, I am _Aristos Achaion._ What I need is loyalty, honesty… Patroclus is exemplary in both. And should the other’s question my choice, I will remind them that I am their Prince and that it is not their job to question such things.”

Patroclus watched the King. His face was on fire, his heart was painful, and it felt as though all the air had left the room. He knew Achilles had made his argument, as flawed and wholly untrue as it was, and now they awaited judgement. Peleus considered his son, eyes darting between the boys so long he felt Achilles shift with nervous energy. And then finally, “Come here, both of you.”

Patroclus and Achilles stepped up to the King as one, shoulders glued together. Peleus laid a hand on each of their shoulders, and a proud smile crept upon weathered lips. “There is no truer honor than that between Therapon. No responsibility carries more weight. I can see the truth in your words, Achilles. You will forgive me, but I had to be sure, such a choice can not be undone. Patroclus-” Patroclus looked to the king in awe, a contented peace crawling its way over his broken heart at the look he found. “-My son has chosen wisely, I believe. It will be an honor to watch you grow into the kind of man a warrior such as he will rely upon.”

“Thank you,” the boys whispered into the silence. Peleus ruffled their hair, with a nod and a smile.

“Yes, yes. Well now that it has been settled, see your new companion does not starve before he can be of use to you. Breakfast is soon, off you go.”

Patroclus bowed again, and was surprised to see Achilles did as well. They grabbed each other’s hands, and raced toward the dining hall, the King’s laughter trailing in their wake.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: A little bit of blood? like an actual drop. But just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So couple things:  
> 1\. I definitely made up a ritual in this chapter, like I based the whole blood on the wrist bit on TSoA Helen and the suitors scene but really this is entirely made up.  
> 2\. Yes I introduced someone way before their time in the novel in this chapter, but I did my best to match the age they should have been in relation to the boys. I know it's not accurate at all but this is an *AU* so I'm going with it.
> 
> Lastly, thank you to everyone who is giving this story a chance. I love all the comments and everything, it makes my day. I know we are 8 chapters in now, but don't worry. They won't be kids forever. Patroclus' story is broken up for me into 5 ages. I'm not going to tell you what they are because spoilers but I'm not going to keep them in kidland forever. The smut/ adulty goodness/ heartbreak/ and all that jazz will come soon. 
> 
> <3 you all!

It was like Peleus had expected, at first. The other boys, ones who’d spent years of their young lives currying favor with the prince, honing their skills to prove their worth, looked at Patroclus with confused disdain. Breakfast had been strange. He followed Achilles in and took a seat to his right, dishing his food up in uncomfortable silence. All around him he could hear the boys whispering their questions and judgments, but he kept his head down. Achilles pretended not to notice as well, though his jaw was tense with each new set of eyes that slipped from him to Patroclus with a glare. 

Patroclus had been content to let them gossip, it seemed as much as they had to say, they were too afraid of upsetting Achilles to say it to his face. Except for one. There had been one boy who voiced his questions, he was smaller than the others, younger than Patroclus for sure. He was brave, the small boy. Where the others, young and old whispered their disbelief, he sat right across from Achilles with a smile and asked without malice, “Who is he?”

“Patroclus,” Achilles replied. “My Therapon.”

The room fell so quiet, he swore he could have heard a pin drop. The boy turned curious eyes on Patroclus, seeming to measure him in a way he feared would become the new norm. 

Patroclus waited patiently, though he felt Achilles tense next to him- ready to fight for Patroclus. When the boy was done he found Patroclus’ eyes and nodded. Then with a tone more serious than a boy no older than 8 should have been capable of, he asked. “What are your thoughts on chariots?”

He heard Achilles breathe a laugh and he felt the same. The question had thrown Patroclus for a loop, and he was sure his eyebrows were touching his curls. _Chariots?_ The boy didn’t question the Prince’s choice, simply accepted the statement and moved on. It was an olive branch, but Patroclus could also see that the answer he gave was important to the boy. While he’d only seen pictures of men in the small carts wielding weapons in a story, he thought he knew enough pass for normal. He smiled and replied, “They’re fast, it’s exciting. I doubt I could drive one though, I’d probably flip it. What about you…?” He floundered a bit at the end, unsure of who the boy was. 

The boy smiled without restraint, and Patroclus realized he was missing a tooth; the nub of it’s replacement just showed through. “Automedon. I’m Automedon, and I love them. I’m going to be the best driver one day. Everyone says.”

Patroclus laughed, “Cool, maybe you can show me sometime?”

Automedon nodded excitedly and Patroclus was relieved. The boy turned his smile on the prince and said, “I get it.”

And that was it. Automedon got up to join a group of boys his own age at another table, and the room found its voice once more. 

Patroclus remained quiet after that, he wasn’t used to giving his words away, he usually reserved them for the important things. It was okay though because Achilles could hold conversation enough for both of them, and he always made sure Patroclus was included.

When they’d finished their breakfast Achilles grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him out to an orchard. The sun was high but the shade they found beneath the foliage was enough to keep the worst of it at bay. They climbed trees to pluck their fruits, and threw the pits at birds. They laughed and played games; they talked, and it was easy. 

It wasn’t until they were side by side, backs propped against the trunk of an ancient tree in the center of the man made forest, that Patroclus remembered his question from earlier. “Achilles?”

Achilles rolled his head to the side, to look at him. They were so close Patroclus could see the flecks of gold that shot fireworks though the green of his eyes. “Yes?”

“What, what is a Therapon? I get that it’s a big deal, your dad made that clear. Is it like best friends or something?”

Dusty pink tinged the tips of Achilles cheeks, and Patroclus thought _Phthia needs sunscreen._ He shifted from where he’d been lazed next to Patroclus, brought his legs criss-cross before him, and picked at the edge of his chiton. “It… It is, yes. But also, it is more. For a prince, me, to name you Therapon, it means that you are sworn to me, and I to you. In war you fight for me; with me. In peace you are my advisor. It…” 

Achilles seemed to consider his next words even more carefully than usual. He dropped the fabric from between his fingers, and stared intently at Patroclus when he’d decided on what to say. “It means we are brothers. That I will always be here for you. When we learn about them, we are told to choose someone we trust without question... And for me that is you.”

_”Oh,”_ It was the only word he could find. He didn’t understand how Achilles could say such kind things, nor how he held so much faith- so much trust- for him, but he didn’t question it. His brain glossed over the war and fighting parts, and settled on two words: _Brothers. Best friends._ They were enough for his heart to flood with joy. He’d never been anyone’s best friend before, and if this is what it was like, he was proud.

“Yes, well. There is also that bit about the blood oath-”

“The _what_ oath?!” Patroclus squeaked.

“Oh do not give me that look, Patroclus. It is only a little blood I promise.” Achilles looked exasperated. 

“ _Only a little blood,_ he says. And when am I supposed to do this, hmm? You don’t even have needles here, am I just supposed to like, stab myself?” Patroclus knew he sounded a bit hysterical but Phthia didn’t have bandaids, and he’d never liked the sight of his own blood.

“Honestly, Patroclus? It is but a prick of the thumb and a few words, then it is official in the Gods’ eyes. If you have changed your mind you need only sa-”

“No!” Patroclus was on his knees now, leaning into Achilles space. If having a best friend meant cutting his thumb and whispering some magic words, he’d do it. He wanted to stay here, wanted this; A brother, a family, a home _so badly,_ he’d tear himself apart for the chance. He’d just been surprised, being best friends with a prince seemed to grow more intense by the hour. “No, i didn’t change my mind. I-I’ll do it, but I don’t know… how?”

Achilles’ smile was like chocolate cake and whipped cream, like a bush turned into a dinosaur by a silly gardener, like a song. He smiled back. “I will show you.” Achilles dug in the earth before he found a rock with a sharp edge, he took a deep breath and ran it across the pad of his right thumb. He hissed as it cut deeply enough to draw blood, and as a bead of red bubbled up, he shifted his eyes to look at Patroclus. It was hopeful, nervous, happy; shades of green drowned in mirth. 

Patroclus reached forward and took the stone from his friend. His hands shook just a little as he held the tiny grey piece of earth in his hand. He turned the bloodied end to his own thumb, and smiled as he pressed down. It bit into his skin, a flash of pain before he pulled back and looked to see his own blood bubble to the surface. 

His stomach did a somersault but he ignored it. The stone fell to the ground between their knees and he looked back to Achilles; he was still smiling. Achilles reached forward slowly and pressed their thumbs together. Then he whispered an oath, a promise of forever; a lifetime as brothers. 

Patroclus repeated his words reverently; the syllables dancing over his tongue like the prayer of a holy man to his god. When he’d finished, Achilles pulled his hand away and drew his thumb along the inside of Patroclus’ wrist; then gestured for Patroclus to do the same.

In the end the boys sat knee to knee, rusty lines drawn over their pulse points, smiling and laughing as the sun dropped beneath the horizon. The bells rang to signal dinner, and with regret they left their private world of trees and earth to rejoin the palace. As they walked Achilles bumped his shoulder, and asked. “Is there a ritual much like that in D.C.?”

Patroclus thought for a moment. He’d never had a best friend, but he’d read books and seen movies. He’d watched with envy as the kids in his classes paired off, and though none had spoken of a blood oath, there was a tradition he was familiar with, and so he said, “We have friendship bracelets?”

Achilles’ brows drew together, “Bracelets?”

Patroclus nodded. He didn’t mention that it was mostly the girls he’d seen wearing their matching bracelets. He liked the idea of a permanent mark that told the world of their choice. “We, uhm. Well _they,_ make them for one another out of string and beads or whatever, and then they trade. And you never take it off, because if you do it means you aren’t best friends anymore.”

Achilles thought for a moment, then nodded like it was the most serious thing he’d ever heard. For a Prince of 10 years who talked of a future of fighting and war, he seemed to put stock in the most silly things. “Then it shall be so. Tomorrow, Patroclus, we will perform the D.C. ritual of friendship bracelets.”

He was so serious as he said this Patroclus snorted, but his heart felt lighter than it ever had before. He shoved Achilles’ shoulder and smiled, “Tomorrow then.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last of the fluff for a bit, I'm afraid. So drink it in.
> 
> (DOUBLE UPDATE TONIGHT)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this now but fair warning, I'm already writing Chapter 10 and will be posting it for sure before I go to sleep. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is giving this story a chance, and to each of you who has taken the time to comment/ kuddos. Y'all make my day so wonderful, and I adore you <3 
> 
> As for the fluff, I know its tooth-rotting, but for those of you who don't know me I'm actually an angst queen. I'm not like, against fluff... but.... well, consider this bonus chapter of cute a peace offering. 
> 
> -kenz

Patroclus woke on the second day not to the sun, but to the sound of shuffling feet over stone. He blinked his weary eyes from where he lay on the palette next to Achilles’ bed, and found the boy himself sneaking back in. His hair hung limply around his head scattering drops across his chiton. He smelled of salt and sea, and the smile he wore when he found Patroclus staring at him was blinding. “Hello,” he said nonchalantly from the windowsill.

“Hello?” Patroclus blinked in confusion. “Was I supposed to get up and go swimming too?” 

Achilles shook his head with wide eyes, “No, no. I went to see my mother, she uhm…” he trailed off. Patroclus struggled onto his elbows, it was as much as he was willing to get up when the sun had barely done more than that. He studied his friend, and when he realized he wasn’t planning to finish the sentence he prompted.

“Is she okay?”

Achilles looked startled by the question, he smiled once more though this time it was softer, more honest. “Yes, she is well. I told her about you.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm. She, well... She does not care for humans but she seemed happy that I had chosen a Therapon.”

“Well, that’s cool I guess.” Patroclus said. He rolled from the mattress, just as uncomfortable as he’d remembered, and stretched his arms high over head. Achilles slid from the window and made his way to get changed, as he grabbed a fresh rectangle to tie himself into he looked warily at Patroclus. 

Patroclus wondered at that look, was it because he felt bad that his mother didn’t like humans? Achilles had told him a little about why, and he could understand. He didn’t much like senators because he’d been forced to be around them, he thought it may be like that. 

Or was he looking at Patroclus like that because he felt uncomfortable talking about his mother when he knew Patroclus had lost his own. He prayed it wasn’t that, just because he didn’t have a mother any longer didn’t mean he ever wished for someone to be sad like he was. The idea, once formed, drowned out the rest, and as he looked to his friend he saw the rigidity in his posture and knew this could not stand. He never wanted Achilles to hide anything from him, they were best friends, and it wasn’t fair. So he stopped where he’d been wrapping himself, albeit more poorly, in fresh linen.

“Achilles?”

Green eyes snapped to his. “Yes?”

“If I’m wrong, then that’s my bad. But if you’re being all weird because you think you can’t talk about your mom, you shouldn’t.”

“But-”

“No. You have a mother, and from what you’ve told me she is amazing, even if she’s scary. My mom.. My mom is dead, and I miss her always. But I don’t think it’s right if we act like you don’t have one. She’s your _mom_ and you should be allowed to be happy about it. I know I am.”

“You are?” Achilles sounded so unsure of himself, but beneath it all there was hope; His eyes shone with it.

“ _Yes,_ You’re my best friend, I’m so happy you have your parents. Even if they’re divorced or whatever you call it here. Don’t hide the good things, it doesn’t hurt my feelings. I promise.”

Achilles let loose a huge breath then ran up to Patroclus and wrapped him in a hug, “Thank you, Patroclus.” He murmured into brown curls, and Patroclus squeezed him back with a nod.

After that, their day was just as wonderful as the first. They snuck to the seamstress and stole ribbons; green like Achilles’ eyes, honey brown like Patroclus’, gold, and blue for the beach on the day they’d met.   
Then they ran with them deep into the orchard to make their bracelets. 

The end result was rather ugly, but neither boy cared. Patroclus had realized as they’d started knotting the fabric that he had no idea how it was supposed to be done, but he figured as long as they made it for each other, and as long as they couldn’t fall off, then they were perfect.

The rest of the week followed much the same pattern. Patroclus would wake as Achilles snuck back in, and as he sat in the sill backlit by the sunrise, Patroclus would smile and ask, “How is she today?” And Achilles would tell him; Of their conversations and politics of the sea, of her lessons and her dramatics. When the story would finish Achilles would be smiling, and Patroclus would say. “Good. Tell her I wish her well.” Then Achilles would agree to pass along his wishes in the morning, and they would start their day.

It was a raucous breakfast in the dining hall with the other boys, who slowly grew accustomed to him; and then…

And then it was adventure. They were too young for the kinds of adventure they dreamed of, but it was no matter. Achilles showed him every secret place he knew on the Palace grounds. They’d run barefoot through the sand, or climb a tree. Grab torches and explore the tunnels below the palace, or race through the fields. 

Patroclus found that wherever they went, Achilles led; he was always just _that_ much slower than his friend, but he never minded. It allowed him to see the scene like a movie, the golden boy with his pink soled feet, running free beneath the sun; the wind blowing messy waves through his hair. 

Achilles taught him all about Greece, because that’s where Phthia was. Ancient Greece, a backdrop of a movie or book turned flesh beneath Patroclus’ hands. When he’d realized just how far back he’d gone, he was shocked… And then he decided not to question what Achilles called _The Will of the Gods_.

Achilles told him stories too, of heroes and expectations, of creatures and gods. Patroclus loved those stories, and found that he could nearly taste them with how vividly his friend spoke. It was all so grand, a true dream and Patroclus prayed he’d be here always.

It was late at night on the sixth day, that Achilles told him of his destiny. He was _Aristos Achaion,_ the best of the greeks. He said that it meant one day he would be a hero, and Patroclus smiled. He realized in that moment that this Achilles was the same hero he’d learned of in a story his nanny read him once. He couldn’t remember the ending, but he knew that even in his time people still spoke of the greatest warrior to ever live. 

It made him happy to know that Achilles’ dreams would come true, and though he wanted to tell him what he knew, he didn’t. Instead he listened to the prince explain that it was why he couldn’t fight him, and why the first time they’d met he’d thrown figs; because ‘it seemed like a good loophole’ to his mother’s rule. 

When all was done, he looked nervously at Patroclus, and said. “Is it okay with you? That I am to fight and that you are to go with me? I do not expect or wish for you to fight, I can keep us both safe. I just do not wish you to question your oath now that you know I am blessed by Gods.”

Patroclus considered this, what it meant for him to one day be the best friend of a hero. He decided it sounded like an adventure too great to pass up, and that the pride he found in being a hero’s Therapon burned brighter now than it had before. 

He rose from where he’d been sitting cross legged on his palette looking up at his friend on the bed, and took a seat beside him. He raised his left wrist, where an amalgam of color was tight tightly for all the world to see. Achlles looked at it, then to his own before he met Patroclus’ eyes. “I think it’s amazing. Seriously, Achilles. You’re going to be like Superman, but better, I know you don’t know who that is but he wears a cape, and like saves the world and everyone loves him and-” he took a deep breath and laid hands on Achilles’ shoulders, giving the prince no choice but to look at him. “And I can’t _wait_ to be there for it all. You’re going to change the world; I’m sure of it.”

Achilles’ green gaze darted back and forth, before he offered what would have been a shy smile if he hadn’t had the confidence of 10 Supermans. The look was nearly a smirk, and Patroclus rolled his eyes at it. “So, _Patroclus._ If you are so certain, it seems I am remembered even in D.C. then?”

That feeling was still strong, that he shouldn’t say what little he knew of the boy before him. So he simply shrugged and said, “Wish I could say.”

Achilles scoffed and shoved him, it sent Patroclus tumbling back onto his palette in a fit of giggles. “I WILL be remembered, you fig head!” Achilles shouted. 

He stood on his bed, pulling his blanket over his shoulders and lording over Patroclus with both hands on his hips. He thrust his chin thrust high. “I am Aristos Achaion, and I will be a _God!_ ”

He held the pose while still looking to Patroclus to make sure he was watching. It was ridiculous. 

“No” Patroclus barked words between laughs, “No capes!”

“No cape?” Achilles said with all seriousness.

Patroclus could barely breathe. “Edna Mode mode says it’s a bad idea, and you look like a fig head.” He giggled as the blanket slid from Achilles’ shoulders to puddle at his feet. 

“I do not know this Edna, but if you say no cape- then I shall never wear one.” Achilles proclaimed.

Patroclus threw his pillow and laughed as it smacked his friend in the face. “Go to sleep, idiot.”

Achilles smiled, and tossed the pillow back with far more force. While it hurt where it hit Patroclus’ chin, he was grateful because it was his favorite uncomfortable pillow from his pile of uncomfortable pillows. 

The prince fell straight back, landing in his bed with a _ppffft_ of fabric. “Tomorrow I wish to show you the docks,” he said from somewhere overhead.

Patroclus yawned as he replied, “Cool.”

“Goodnight, Patroclus.”

“Goodnight, fig head.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: slave trade/ slavery, violence against a woman (short sentence), what I would call a description of a panic attack but bc of heart sads, also Shitty parents.
> 
> lmk if I missed anything you think should be tagged <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well.............
> 
> Here's my second update of the evening. Uhm... Yeah.
> 
> I guess I should note, you'll get your first taste of Achilles' POV. While the fic will be 90% Patroclus' POV in order to move the story/ for plot reasons you will understand later it's necessary for me to utilize a few different POV's to cover time gaps. As of now you'll be getting Achilles a few times, and Briseis a few times as well. I don't think I will use anyone else? There is a possibility of a surprise POV at the end (depending on which of the two endings I have planned I decide on) but we shall see.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this?? like.... ooof, really I just hope this actually hits as hard as I tried to make it hit, but if it sucks big balls lmk and I'll give it a rewrite. 
> 
> -Kenz

The docks were, _incredible._ Achilles had come back from visiting his mother, and the conversation had been the same as always. When they’d gotten dressed he grabbed a leather pouch of coins that tinkled with each step he took. He told Patroclus that they’d get food from a vendor near the water, “Just like the sailors.”

It was every kids’ dream to walk among pirates, or in this case weather-worn sailors who stank of salt and musty sweat. The charm wasn’t lost though, Patroclus took in the bustling port with wide eyes. All around him were Phthians selling wares pulled from the ships, haggling for better prices, and he’d seen at least three people get in a fight over fish. 

Achilles led him past stalls that sold ornate pottery, fish wrapped in leaves, loaves of bread that smelled of olives, and so much more. They wandered through a rainbow sea, silks dyed every color were being sold by a middle aged man who said he’d just brought them in from across the world. Patroclus knew more about Greece now, and he doubted the man had really gone that far, but it didn’t lessen the beauty. 

The fabric felt like a kiss from his mother, like a good hug, or a happy dream as it slid between his fingers. The man had recognized Achilles, as did most on the docks. His bright hair and effervescent smile were something of legend. Everywhere they went people bowed and waved, smiled and insisted on giving him gifts. 

Patroclus thought it was funny how Achilles took the gifts, “Because it would be rude to refuse,” and then turned around to give them away. For every piece of food he was given for being royal, he’d find a child half starved hovering close to the stalls of food, as though the smell alone would sustain them. He’d take in their dusty skin and sallow eyes, then smile and pass them the gift. Some tried to refuse, it wasn’t every day they saw a prince, and taking from him seemed uncouth. But it was for that exact reason they couldn’t refuse when he insisted. They’d thank him profusely and Achilles would wave them away. “I love my people, Patroclus. And I wish father would take every child you see, but he can not. It is the least I can do when I have never had to want for anything.”

It was one of a million things Patroclus found he loved about his best friend. Achilles never worked with an ulterior motive, he was straight forward and if he found something he could change, he did so. 

Achilles stood before him and lifted a pale green linen aloft, squinting one eye as he draped the fabric over Patroclus’ shoulder. He hitched a brow at the prince in question, and Achilles simply said. “I believe it is time you stopped borrowing my clothes.”

Patroclus had never worn such a color, and he looked down to see how it made the brown of his skin glow in the sun; He smiled. Achilles turned to the merchant and told him to deliver the whole bit to the palace, then reached into his bag of coin to pay the man. When he was done Patroclus followed him toward the end of the dock so that they could watch as a new ship, bigger and more majestic than the others he’d seen, pulled into the port. 

It was a loud event, people all around him yelled and ropes were tossed as though they weighed nothing. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Achilles as the ship came to rest and a large piece of wood was fitted from it’s deck to reach the dock with a resounding thud. 

And then it was a commotion, men carrying boxes and barrels, from wherever they’d travelled and passing them to those on land. Patroclus knew his jaw was hanging open, but it was amazing to see how they lived here, in this place by the sea. 

He heard a giggle over the hum of the crowd and turned to find the prince staring at him in amusement. “Have you never seen a ship before, Patroclus?”

Patroclus sneered a little and turned his gaze back, “I’ve seen ships, Achilles. Once, my father had to bring me to a homecoming at the Navy base so we could take pictures. It was cool but not… Not like this. This is like captain hook, or Jack Sparrow. It’s…” He trailed off and gestured wildly with both hands in awe; He prayed his friend understood.

“I like it too,” Achilles said quietly.

They continued to watch the ship unload for what felt like hours, and as his stomach started to growl Patroclus found himself wishing they hadn’t given away _all_ the food. He was about to say something to his friend when there was a loud scream from the ship. Patroclus felt his heart drop as he saw the final wares the sailors had brought being dragged down the gangplank.

“Oh, god.” he said. 

He felt sick; His nose tingled, and his eyes watered as he watched sailors march women in chains, barefoot and dirty, down the ramp. Their heads hung low, and every step they took rattled the chains around their ankles, their wrists; the sun hit the metal like a beacon, and Patroclus felt the first of his tears begin to fall.

A warm familiar hand touched his shoulder, but he couldn’t look away. “What is it?” Achilles asked, he sounded concerned.

“T-they’re slaves. They’re bringing slaves Achilles, what are they going to do to them?” He turned to his friend, full of a fury the likes of which he had only felt a few times. It was his father’s rage, but in this he felt justified. 

They had learned about slaves in school, a different time, but slaves all the same. He remembered his teacher talking about how horribly they were treated and Patroclus had wondered at what kind of monsters could do such a thing. Somewhere in the back of his mind he must have known, but it never registered before.

His mind supplied rapid images from the palace. Of all the servants, the girl with the linen, and the one who filled his glass. Of the girls with their tired eyes who milled about between grown men, always in a hurry. He had thought them beautiful, strong; Marvelled at the way they moved with such grace. 

They had strong lines of muscle, and rich skin on cream linen. They moved with the ease of dancers on bare feet, and always knew how to help if he had a question. He had thought, before now, that they had been like his cook growing up; or his nanny. Women who were paid good money to care for him, and in return he always did his best to make them smile. He had treated the women of the palace much in the same way, but now he feared it wasn’t enough.

He watched in horror as one of the girls, younger than the others, tripped over the shackles that tore at her ankles. A man from the ship yelled and slapped her across the face; Patroclus gasped. 

He was running before his mind registered the change in location. His sandals slapped against the packed earth as he fled towards the girl; to do what? He didn’t know. All he knew was that this was _wrong, wrong, wrong._

“Patroclus!” Achilles yelled as he appeared in front of him, hands on his shoulders, and stopped him mid stride. He’d always been faster than Patroclus, and he’d never minded until now. He had to get to the girl, to all of them, because-

“What are you doing?” Achilles asked, his brows high on his head.

Patroclus lifted his shaking hand to point at the ship, and said between gasps for air. “They’re hurting them, they can’t do that.”

Achilles turned to look over his shoulder, then turned back to give him a pitying look. “They are slaves, Patroclus. Property. It is their right to do with them what they will.”

Patroclus thought he might throw up. “Where will they take them?”

“The slave market.”

“And then?” Patroclus was almost yelling now.

“And then they will be sold, some to the palace and others to noble households. Why are you so upset?”

Patroclus finally let his eyes slide from the ship to truly look at his friend. Achilles was confused and it only angered him more. How could this boy who helped him when his parents died, who fed hungry children and lived with foster brothers not see how wrong it was to treat another human this way? “BECAUSE THEY ARE HUMAN!” he screamed. “Because… Because no one should ever have to be hurt like that. Because it’s not allowed. Because it’s _evil_.”

Achilles reached a hand up to swipe a tear from Patroclus’ cheek, but he flinched away. He didn’t say anything, didn’t tell Patroclus he agreed nor that he would change it; if he even could. They may have been children but surely a future god could save these women. He grabbed the prince back and shook him, as he begged. “Do something, please.”

“I… I can not,” Achilles whispered.

“Then what good are you, _Aristos Achaion_?” Patroclus spat. He was furious, and while somewhere in his mind he understood that Achilles wasn’t responsible for this, nor was he old enough to make a difference, it was drowned by his fury. He stepped back from his best friend, the bracelet on his wrist as heavy as the shackles the women wore; and with a shaking head and tears in his eyes, he ran.

Achilles may have been faster, bigger, stronger, but Patroclus was lithe. He weaved between people in a messy untraceable line, and as the tears fell he pushed harder. He’d been so selfish, so excited for this world of adventure he’d forgotten that all old stories came with a bite. 

His mother had raised him to stand up for others, and even though Menoetius had been the way he was, he too had fought for _people._ It was the fundamental rule he’d learned as a child, one repeated by every person who’d had a hand in shaping him. _Treat others how you want to be treated,_ it was the ‘Golden Rule’ for a reason. 

Patroclus elbowed around a fat man, and slid behind a cart. He ran until he found a dark corner behind the market, where he could hide. He needed time, he needed to breathe. His world of dreams had become too much, and he couldn't be out there. It was as if once he’d seen those women, everything he’d been pretending not to remember, his father, his loneliness, his broken heart... His fear, all came free of their carefully locked boxes; and Patroclus cried harder.

He cried until he gagged, and the acidic chunks of his breakfast spilled beside him on the clay earth. He cried until he couldn’t do it anymore, and then he stayed. He held his knees close as the sounds of the market slowed, and the hour grew late.

Then, when the sun began its descent, and painted the sky in cotton candy colors, he took a deep breath. 

He needed to get back, to talk to Achilles, to apologize for running away. He needed to explain, if he could, how wrong it was and maybe… Maybe with him they could save those women, even if they couldn’t save them all. The more he thought about it, the more sure he was. And so he stood on shaking legs, needles pricking their way down his calves and into his heels, and walked back toward the market.

The palace sat high above on the hill, and with it’s torches it shone like a beacon. The walk home seemed much harder than the walk to the docks had been. With every step he took he couldn’t believe how hungry he was; How tired he was. He had missed dinner, he was sure. He hoped Achilles wouldn’t be too upset with him, maybe he’d even saved him something to eat. He’d kill for a fig at that moment. 

As though he’d wished upon a star, a beautiful woman stepped in front of him with a smile. She carried a basket of figs, so fresh Patroclus could practically taste them from where he stood. Her dark hair was long and contrasted beautifully against her alabaster skin. Her lips were painted red, a color his mother had favored, and her dark eyes were large on her face. She smiled at him, and Patroclus couldn’t help it; he smiled back, though he thought it may not have been as good since he’d been crying. 

“Are you lost, little one?” The woman asked, and Patroclus shook his head.

“No. I’m- I live at the Palace. I’m just a little late getting back for dinner.”

The woman clicked her tongue, “Surely the meal will be finished by the time you have made it up that hill.”

Patroclus’ shoulders slumped, she was right. His stomach protested loudly and the woman laughed a tinkling laugh. “Here,” she said as she reached into her basket of figs. She grabbed one of them, and held it out to Patroclus with a smile. 

He had never wanted a piece of fruit more, but he shook his head. “I- I don’t have any money, I’m sorry. But thank you.” 

The woman laughed again, and stepped forward, sliding the fig into his hand with a smile. “Nonsense, dear. They are a gift for the Prince’s Therapon.”

Patroclus froze, “You know who I am?” 

“My dear, news travels fast in Phthia. You are known to many here Patroclus Menoitides. It is a great honor the prince has bestowed upon you.”

Patroclus shoved the fig in his mouth and gave her a weak smile, his cheeks felt hot and he looked at his feet. “I know.” he said through a mouthful of fruit. He rushed to finish chewing and swallowed with a gulp.

“If you could do me a favor?” She asked sweetly and Patroclus looked up.

“Anything.” She had given him a fig, and her smile was like his mother’s. He was happy to help, maybe it would be a good distraction.

“I have a gift for the prince, but I could not find him today at the dock to give it. Would you mind terribly, bringing it to him?”

Patroclus knew that Achilles would give the gift away, but he didn’t want to hurt the nice lady’s feelings. So he smiled and said, “Of course.”

The woman reached into her basket and produced a bundle of cloth. He watched as she slowly unwound the cloth and gasped when he saw what lay inside. It was a conch shell. The colors were vibrant, far different from those he’d seen in pictures. Each protrusion was the green of Achilles’ eyes, and the inside was a vibrant gold. He held out his hands and they shook; He was terrified he’d break such a wonderful thing before he got back to his friend, but he didn’t say that. He wanted the woman to trust him. 

“Thank you,” she said and placed the shell gently in his hand. He was about to wish her a good night when she reached into a leather pouch, and reached for his hand once more. “For your trouble,” she smiled.

As the bronze coin fell, Patroclus felt time slow. It fell for an eternity; End over end. 

He saw three women on one side, so unlike the other drachma Achilles had shown him. He knew then that he’d messed up, he never should have run. He never had the chance to tell Achilles thank you, or I’m sorry, or goodbye. 

The drachma flipped, and three women smiled.

Patroclus wanted to move so badly, but he was frozen.

The drachma flipped, and the woman with a basket of figs laughed.

Patroclus felt his heart begin to crack.

The drachma flipped, and Patroclus heard a familiar voice.

The drachma flipped, “PATROCLUS!”

The drachma hit his palm, and time snapped back into place. The metal was cold where it rested on his skin. He gasped a breath, and looked at the three women. 

The one in the middle winked, and he snapped his head up. 

The woman was gone, in the place she’d been was only a view of the hill leading to the palace.

Achilles was running, faster than he’d ever seen. The sunset lit him like a gold statue and for a moment he thought, _it’s alright._

“PATRO-”

Patroclus smiled; and the world fell from beneath his head. 

______________________________________________________________

**PHTHIA:** _Achilles_

Achilles had looked everywhere for his Therapon. He regretted letting him run away about 30 seconds after he’d allowed it. _It was a shock,_ he’d reasoned. Never had he been yelled at in such a way. 

He searched for him for hours and when he still couldn’t find him, he returned to the palace to see if he’d gone home. He’d looked in all of their spots, the secret and the well known. He’d asked every servant and guard he’d passed, but no one could find him. 

As time drug on, he grew scared. A feeling that had started the moment Patroclus turned his back on him, had grown so painful he swore his heart was being torn from his chest. He needed to apologize, to listen. Patroclus was from a different world and if seeing the slaves upset him so much, he would do everything he could to fix it. He didn’t know if his father would hear him, but he was a prince in his own right- there had to be _something_ he could do. 

He planned to tell Patroclus this when he found him. His heart hurt as he ran back across the grounds heading for the hill, for the docks. _Maybe he just got lost,_ he prayed to every God he knew that it was true.

He was running down the hill when he felt her; His mother. Maybe she would help, though he doubted it- he hadn’t been entirely truthful with Patroclus, it was yet another thing that brought him guilt. When his mother had talked to him that morning she had told him of her concerns with his Therapon.

“He is not _of_ here, Achilles.” She said. “I saw him, you know. The day he came to you on the beach. It was as if the world cracked and he was dragged from the bowels of Tartarus. The Gods knew not what to make of him, and the Fates gave no answer.”

Achilles had scoffed and tried to tell her not to worry, she grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “You do not understand! Something broke when he came through the first time, even Zeus was terrified. When he went back we thought it would be okay, but then he returned, and the world opened once more. There is something _wrong_ with him, Achilles. You must give him back.”

Achilles had told her no, then he’d left the sea to find his Therapon. Today would be a special day, and not his mother’s dramatics, not even the politics of Gods could ruin it. 

He could see her now, as he ran. Standing just at the base of the path. She carried about her the presence only Gods had; the kind of aura that claimed all the air around them. She shifted as she handed something to someone and that’s when he saw him, Patroclus. 

He screamed his name and pumped his legs harder, it was the fastest he’d ever run. Patroclus was looking at something, and as it flipped Achilles’ heart started to crack. 

A drachma, burning bronze in the dying light of the sun, flipped end over end above his palm. 

It was as if time slowed and he was running through mud, through honey. He pushed his body as hard as he could but he knew he was too late.

The drachma landed on a delicate palm, and his Therapon looked straight at him. He smiled, and for a second Achilles was relieved. _It was a mistake, it was just a normal coin._ He started to smile with the relief he felt, the enormity of it threatened to bowl him over. He Yelled for his friend, “PATRO-” but the rest of the name died in his throat.

It was like it had been when he was five, the boy who’d come to the beach from another world. The boy who’d cried on his floor and told him stories of metal boxes that flew in the sky. The one who said funny things, and looked at the world as if it was a dream. His friend, his brother; his universe. Deep olive skin, and curls like twisting vines, honey eyes and a smile that made Achilles’ heart skip a beat.

He watched in horror as Patroclus disappeared entirely.

His tears were instant; His throat felt so tight he couldn’t breathe. 

He kept running though his lungs burned, to the place he’d last seen his friend. But as he slid to a stop, he found only a shell. 

He screamed then, louder than he’d ever screamed; the pain of his heart shattering was too great for his body. He screamed for his Therapon over and over, and as his knees hit the earth so hard his teeth rattled, he continued on. 

The world was closing in on him, all darkness and pain, weighing him down with such force he swore he would sink to the Underworld. He welcomed it, for he knew it would be all that could ease his pain. 

He didn’t know how long he sat, bowed over the conch shell crying and screaming for his friend. But suddenly there was a cold hand on his shoulder; _Mother._

He looked up at her, and though she was blurry through the tears he could not stop, he glared. He prayed to the Gods that she understood how she had hurt him. He wanted to rage, to rip her apart, to burn the world down, to find his Therapon; but all that came out, was a brittle, croaked, _“Why?”_

Thetis fell to her knees before her son, and clasped his tear stained face between her cold hands. His mother was a goddess, she didn’t feel things like he did, and yet even then he could see the pity in her eyes. “My love, I am sorry.” she whispered.

Achilles shook with his sobs, and Thetis ran her fingers through his matted curls. “There is a prophecy,” she said.

Achilles was furious, what prophecy could be so horrid that she’d play with the Fates and do what she’d done. “What. Prophecy.” he growled, it was barely a question.

“That boy, your Patroclus, he will be the end of you, Achilles. He is what stands between you and your godhood, my love; I could not let it be so.”

Achilles closed his eyes. Ice had begun in his chest and was crawling out, tangling every part of his body, his soul, in a numb cold. His right hand fumbled for the ribbon tied at his wrist, and he took a stuttered breath. “I wish…” he whispered, and opened his eyes to stare at his mother. “I wish you had let me decide.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JSYK: I have *Plans* for Thetis, but I don't plan to demonize her quite as much as she is a lot of the time. Like don't get me wrong she is still a hardass B, but I believe her actions all derive from a fierce love of her child and therefore keep that in mind when you see her in the fic. Her actions have reasons, and I promise to only take her to a bitch level necessary for the story.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did someone order some angst?
> 
> (Short Chapter, I'm sorry my chapter lengths vary so much.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things to know: 
> 
> 1\. I'm on another roll so I'll probs be updating again soon, possibly even two more tonight- we shall see.  
> 2\. The way Patroclus talks about foster care here and in the chapters to come are based off of stories. My family was a foster family to children from the time I was 9 until after my parents divorced in college. Some stayed with us for years, others for a short time- and it was an experience I'm grateful for. That being said, how I go about the next chapters are based off what some of my siblings had told me of their old homes. I AM NOT doing anything related to abuse, though there will be neglect seen through his eyes. It isn't a reflection of all foster families by any means. But I refuse to glorify abuse for the sake of plot in a story about children.  
> 3\. Piggy backing off of that, I'm going to be fucking around with the process of foster care (not in detail) but for anyone who has experienced either side of the system, you'll see that how he goes about getting a family isn't really how it's done. But I needed to rush it through a child's eyes for plot reasons, and because at 10 the things that stand out to us aren't the legality, but the people/ experiences. (also bc like some shit happens and i'm going to pretend it was like accepted and pin it on the Fates moving the plot in terms of paperwork).
> 
> As we move forward, if you find that the representation of his time there is painful or deserves a trigger warning/ that its offensive or anything at all please let me know. I'm going to do my ABSOLUTE best to make sure the stress is more on the relationships and less on the his position as a child of the system.
> 
> 4\. Finally, if you are someone who has experienced the system, I want you to know I'm always here to talk. I may not be the most knowledgeable about your particular experiences but we can all use someone to vent to, even strangers on the internet. Know that you are strong, you are capable, and that there are so many of us out in the world that love you- even if we don't know who you are yet. 
> 
> I hope you are all having a great week <3 as usual thank y'all for the comments/ kuddos. Every time I read your predictions and notes I get so excited bc like, ughhhh I have so much in store for y'all <3
> 
> -Kenz

“NO! No, no, no, no.” He crawled across the dusty floor on his hands and knees, frantically searching for a drachma beneath the rack of robes. There was a moment when he thought he’d found it and the relief he felt was profound. His fingers danced over a metal circle, and he grabbed it like a lifeline. But when he held it up in the evening light coming through the small window across the storage room, he saw it for what it was. A quarter, rusted on its edges. He turned it over, he refused to believe in his hysteria that it was a simple quarter. When he found only George Washington’s face and not the three faces of the women, he let the coin slip from his numb fingers.

It bounced once, twice, three times, then rolled back beneath the rack where he’d found it. He looked down at the ground and saw his sandals had become dress shoes once more, but his legs were bare. His suit hadn’t returned, it was strange how this was what his mind chose to focus on. 

He wondered if it was because this was Achilles’ chiton, if maybe his shirt had become a shirt once more, where it lay in a pile in Achilles’ dresser. He was freezing in his cream chiton and he doubted it was due to lack of central heating. It was the bone deep kind of cold that came with the total destruction of one's hopes and dreams. 

He’d lost it all in a moment, and the last thing he’d said to his Therapon, the thing Achilles would remember him by most was awful. _What good are you, Aristos Achaion?_

He reached for the ribbon tied tightly around his wrist and squeezed.

It was loud, the crack his soul made as it shattered; The pieces of it falling with his tears, as he collapsed against the floor. He screamed and raged, he cried as hard as he had that night by the lake. “I’m sorry,” he said over and over again. “I’m so _sorry.”_

That’s how he found him, his music teacher. As Patroclus rocked back and forth in his tiny corner, and the sun slipped below the horizon, a light broke through the nothingness and a tall man walked into the room. 

“Hello?” he said skeptically. The sound of a hand fumbling along the wall was ended with lights shining down from the ceiling. They lit Patroclus like a beacon in his white chiton and shiny black shoes. “Patroclus?” came a familiar voice, but he couldn’t move from his little ball. He swore if he so much as opened his mouth to answer his insides would spill onto the floor before him.

A large warm hand came to rest on the back of his neck, and the man gave a soft sigh. “Oh, Patroclus. I’m so sorry.” _for your loss,_ was implied but his teacher didn’t know which loss he grieved. 

He could say nothing so he continued to cry. There was a shuffling noise, and his teacher slid down to sit next to him, drawing Patroclus into the crook of his arm. It was a heavy weight, one that seemed to glue him back together enough to finally raise his head.

“W-why are you here?” he whispered his unimportant question. 

His teacher gazed down at him with his strange blue eyes. They had always been kind, but here in this room they looked sad too. It was more of a comfort than Patroclus would have expected. “I teach a music program here on Mondays. I was actually just cleaning up when I found you. You’ve been gone a week Patroclus, everyone has been so worried.”

“Oh,” Patroclus said, because what else was there? He couldn’t explain to his music teacher that a magic drachma had sent him to ancient Greece a second time; nor that he’d befriended a prince. He couldn’t tell him that he’d never planned on coming home, but that a cruel woman with red lips and black hair had tricked him. He couldn’t say anything about it; And so he didn’t.

It was okay though, his teacher held him there on the floor as he cried more. When the pain grew too great and he whispered his apologies to his Therapon between sobs, his teacher brushed a calloused hand over his head and said quietly. “I’m sure they know, wherever they are, Patroclus.” But he didn’t know anything, and Patroclus cried harder.

Time passed on that floor. When finally all the tears had run dry, and he was left hollow and freezing, his teacher stood and reached out a hand. Patroclus took it gratefully, he couldn’t have managed to stand on his own. His teacher looked at his strange outfit and snorted, then said not unkindly. “A chiton in winter?”

Patroclus couldn’t help it, he blushed. He knew he must’ve looked ridiculous. He was red faced and puffy, his snot had left streaks on his teacher’s shirt, and his chiton was caked in dirt. He shrugged helplessly, and his teacher smiled. “I have an extra sweatshirt in my classroom, let’s go find that hmm?”

Patroclus could only nod. He trailed his teacher on lead feet down the hallways he’d run a week before. 

When they entered the weird yellow room with it’s metal chairs and crooked music stands, he stood at the door while his teacher grabbed a sweatshirt and held it out. He took it, sliding it over his chiton. It swallowed him up, hanging well past his knees, the arms were so long they looked like octopus tentacles, and the hood so large it completely covered his face until he managed to swim free. When he’d found the light again, his teacher was doing his best not to laugh; Patroclus figured it was because he felt bad laughing at a sad kid, it wasn’t what teachers were supposed to do.

He glared anyways, just to let the man know it was rude, and that he didn’t care. He didn’t know what he expected then, but it wasn’t what the man said. “Patroclus…” he began, and for some reason he looked nervous, almost guilty. 

“What.” Patroclus croaked.

“The police are upstairs, I’m sorry. I texted Mrs. Miller the Cathedral’s manager when I found you. I asked her to wait, I knew you needed to be alone but… It’s time. They’re going to help get you settled.” 

Patroclus shut his eyes and clamped his lips together, nodding his head. It made sense, he’d gone and had an adventure when he was supposed to be getting a _new family,_ like the woman said. He knew if he was lucky someone would adopt him, that’s what she’d said. But the truth was that only little kids ever got adopted. He’d known a foster kid once, on scholarship to his school last year. He’d heard the boy talk about all the homes he’d lived in his life and the thought of being moved around without care in such a way had made him sick. He’d gone home that night and written his father a letter, ‘Please, he needs a family’ Patroclus had said. He’d thought that because they had so many extra rooms, and because he’d always wanted a brother, if he was really good and asked _really_ nicely his father would say yes. Menoetius hadn’t even mentioned it the next day, though he knew his father had gotten it because it wasn’t on the desk when he checked. He’d never asked for something like that again.

His teacher folded him into another hug, he was so warm and Patroclus let himself be comforted a final time. What came next would be change; He knew that. It would be a backpack full of clothes, a new school, a new bed; A new everything. He was terrified, and that fear made him shake. 

“Shhh,” his teacher said. “I know, Patroclus, I know. I’m so sorry bud. It’ll be okay though, I promise.”

The promise was as empty as those had been from his mother’s friends when they promised to be there. As empty as the hole that had torn through him when the drachma fell; but he pretended it wasn’t all the same. With a deep breath he pulled away, and looked at his shiny black shoes. His teacher grabbed his guitar case, and led him through the door. 

When they at last arrived at the front of the Cathedral, the stained glass windows were blinking red, and blue, and yellow. He stepped out into the cold evening, and buried his hands in the too long sleeves of his borrowed sweatshirt. It was that reminder that he’d taken something from someone he wasn’t going to see again, not when everything was different, that saw him sliding his arms back through, ready to return it. His teacher only shook his head, “I’ve got others. Don’t worry.” He said.

Patroclus nodded in thanks, and pulled the strings tight. 

Before him were a line of cop cars, an ambulance, a fire truck, and so many cameras. A man in a blue uniform broke away from the line, his dog trailing at his heels with a lolling tongue. Patroclus looked up at the man, and there was a flash of recognition; warm brown eyes, deep curls and a honeyed tan. The officer gave him a sad smile and said, “Hey Patroclus, remember us?”

It was the same officer from the lake, and though he didn’t remember the man’s name, he nodded. The officer smiled and offered his hand, Patroclus looked back to his teacher who gave him an encouraging nod; His eyes looked as sad as Patroclus felt. It was that reassurance that gave him the strength to lift his hand and place it in the officer’s.

Together they walked down the steps, and as cameras flashed and people screamed questions, Patroclus buried himself into the sweatshirt, and repeated three words. _I’ll be okay._

Later he would learn that ‘okay’ was a word with too many definitions; four letters with a bar so low, that the simple act of breathing seemed to be the qualifier.

But not now. Now as he sat on a crunchy white bed in the back of an ambulance, and a man with a flashlight shining in his eyes asked him questions, Patroclus let himself slip into the calm waters of ‘okay.’ It was all there was left.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double update, if you haven't read CH 11 (i.e. his return to modern time, go back now!)
> 
> TW: Foster Care, mentions of neglectful adults and a mean kid.
> 
> ABSOLUTELY NO ABUSE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright y'all, as it says above this is update #2 of the night. (I'm on such a roll I think there may be a third update tonight - more if I can't sleep bc I have insomnia).
> 
> So I ran this chapter by my mom, who has worked in the mental health field my whole life. She was a foster mom and runs a global non profit for youth mental health, check them out if you're in need of services (youthera.org ) They hire young adults to provide outreach and support for other youth/ young adult who are struggling. (Peer to peer mentorship like you've never seen).
> 
> Anyways, she approved it (as in she read it for anything that could have been done with distaste and found it to be okay from a professional standpoint).
> 
> I did my best to approach his experience moving home to home with grace. Know that he does have two incidents with a bully, but they are about 1 sentence each. If you feel it needs more in the TW's or you'd like a summary I can provide it for you. 
> 
> BUTTTTTTTTTTT, there is fluff at the end <3 Did someone order another character from TSoA? Because they're here!
> 
> -Kenz
> 
> P.S. yes my mom reads all my fics, because like she is too supportive and honestly her doing so is the reason I'm writing my own novel lol. (She makes me read the not smutty ones out loud and calls it 'daughter-ble', she also calls me to get mad if I haven't read her a new chapter in a while. in case you wanted to know how co-dependent we are lol)

What came next was little more than a blur. It was a hospital, then the woman from before came, she took him to his house covered in boxes and let him pack his favorite things in a duffel bag. She said something about a trust as he packed, he’d have access to it at 21, but he didn’t care. That was a lifetime away. He didn’t have any toys or books that meant much to him, the only things he found he cared for were his bracelet and the sweatshirt his teacher had given him. His nanny was there, and the cook and the maid, they all hugged him close and told him to call if he needed anything. They wrote their numbers down on a note card, and he tucked it safely at the bottom of his bag.

He never saw any of them again.

The lady took him to a blue house an hour from his old one. The car was quiet, she tried talking to him but he didn’t have anything to say. In fact, he hadn’t said anything since he left his teacher in the Cathedral. 

They arrived in the afternoon to the two story home in the suburbs. A kind looking woman and her husband stood on the porch with their daughter and a big gold dog. It was oddly picturesque and Patroclus wondered, _Will I be on the porch waving when the next kid comes?_

He was there for three months. It turned out that the father, Mike lost his job, and then the bank called and the family had to move away. It hurt, they had been kind and never asked him to talk, they just smiled and continued on. They didn’t make him feel excluded, they included him in everything; it was a time of peace until it wasn’t. 

Mike and Leanne, their daughter Kate and their dog Baxter moved out of state, and it meant Patroclus couldn’t come along. _We’ll miss you so much Pat,_ they said. _We’re so sorry sweetheart._ They wrote their number below the others on his note-card, and Patroclus waved from the lady’s car as she drove him away.

He was put in a loud house, filled to the brim with children. He shared a room with three other boys, and slept with his duffle as a pillow because things had a habit of disappearing. It was busy there, and the other kids laughed at him because he was small, and weird, and didn’t talk. 

One day he came home from school and found his new clothes, the ones Leanne had bought him, were cut to shreds. He said nothing as he cleaned the pile up, only walked with his head down to throw them in the trash. He was grateful they didn’t hurt his big sweatshirt, and that night he curled deep into it, and dreamt of what he always did; _Achilles. Greece._ It was his only escape.

A month later the lady, Henriette, came with a smile on her face and said he’d be leaving the loud house for a new family, and “Wasn’t he excited?”

Patroclus painted a smile on his own face and nodded, then packed his bag and checked for his notecard, relieved to find it still safe. He followed Henriette out and slid into the back of the car. 

It was a short drive, and the houses were small. They all had little yards with metal fences, and cars lined on the streets. No one was there waiting on the porch, so Henriette walked him to the door, her arms weighed down by the file she carried. She smiled at him, and said “This is the one, Patroclus.” Then knocked. 

The door opened and he saw a middle aged woman with dirty blonde hair. She looked tired, her eyes were heavy in her face and her clothes were wrinkled. She ran her hands down her shirt before she reached out, “Hello Patroclus, I’m Kelly.” 

Patroclus tried to smile but he was scared, so it looked more like a grimace. He reached out and let her shake his hand before tucking it back into his pocket. Kelly let them inside, and they sat on the couch for introductions. It turned out that Kelly’s husband Matt worked the swing shift, so he was asleep. She introduced Patroclus to her son Kyle, a fat kid with a mean smile. He shrunk into the couch, and everyone pretended not to notice.

When Henriette left he heard her tell Kelly, “It’ll take time. He was with his last family for a few months and still didn’t say a word. Call me if you have any problems.” Kelly thanked her and shut the door.

The first night they ate spaghetti, and the sauce was bland but it was warm. Patroclus carried his dishes diligently to the sink, and then went to his room.

His room. It was better than the loud house because it was his own place, but there wasn’t a lock on the door and Kyle kept coming in to touch his things. 

That house lasted 8 months. Patroclus didn’t say a word until his last day, when Kyle who’d spent months making sure he knew he wasn’t his ‘real brother’ took it too far. Kyle had come in after school to lord over Patroclus where he was doing his homework. Kelly was at the store and Matt was sleeping. Kyle pulled the pencil from his hand in a demand for attention, and Patroclus looked up warily. “You’re such a loser.” Kyle told him.

Patroclus blinked, then turned to grab another pencil. Apparently it hadn’t been the reaction the other boy was looking for. Kyle reached out and grabbed his wrist, but Patroclus didn’t struggle. He didn’t think the older boy would hurt him, and he didn’t. Instead he grabbed the frayed end of Patroclus’ bracelet and pulled. 

The ribbon, well worn by time, by continuous washing snapped, and all he could see was red. Patroclus screamed, “NO!” It was the first and last word he said in that house. 

He surged out of his chair, alight with his father’s rage and punched Kyle in the face. There was blood, and Matt came running, demanding to know what happened. Kyle cried to his father and said that Patroclus had attacked him. “Is that what happened Patroclus?” Matt asked.

He didn’t answer, he only fell to the ground to retrieve the bracelet. 

He was packing his bag before Kelly got home, and Henriette came for him that night. 

They didn’t write their number on his notecard.

When Henriette asked what had really happened because, “You’ve never gotten angry like that before.” Patroclus held up his bracelet for her to see in the rearview mirror. Henriette sighed, and instead of driving to where she’d planned she stopped at a craft store. They walked the aisles until they found a wall of ribbon. She told him to pick a color, and he chose more green. 

In the parking lot Henriette tied the bracelet back together, then around his wrist. She gave him the rest of the ribbon to keep so he could make it bigger as he grew; His eyes were wet as he looked at her. “Thank you,” he whispered. Henriette’s eyes were wet too when she said, “You’re welcome.”

He went to another loud house after that; Thankfully it was only for a month. He was a little older than 11 when Henriette came for him again, “I’ve found the right place Patroclus. I know it this time.” He didn’t think she was right, but he prayed she would be anyways.

They drove and drove it seemed, spent time in traffic, and finally when his stomach had begun to growl they pulled into a neighborhood. It was modest, older homes lined the quiet street. They were large and painted in pastel colors, all with white picket fences, and SUVs in the driveways. Henriette stopped in front of a yellow house and cut the ignition.

“This is it. “ She said, and he nodded. She looked at him with hope from where she’d turned in her seat. “There’s Jackie, she’s a nurse, and her wife Hope is a teacher. They have a son, he’s three and his name is Oliver. Then they have another girl, she’s about your age and she’s been with them for about 5 years now- they’re in the process of adopting her.” Henriette smiled, and Patroclus had to admit it sounded like a great place- he prayed it would be.

He crawled out of the car and followed Henriette up the path. She’d barely lifted her hand to knock when the wide oak door flew open. “Patroclus! You’re here!” Said a woman. She was tall, taller than any woman he’d ever seen. She had rich warm skin much like his own, and tattoos on her arms. Her brown hair was shaved on one side, and her button up shirt had fish on it. 

“Jesus Jack, you’re scaring him.” Came another voice. A smaller redheaded woman pushed past. She wore a yellow dress the same color of their house, and a baby blue cardigan. Her tights were nude with little pink flowers sewn on that matched her lipstick. She smiled, and it was honest. 

On her hip she held a little boy in a dinosaur costume. He had straight black hair spiked high with gel, and was chewing intently on a cheese stick. “I’m Hope, and this creature here is Ollie. Ollie, can you say hi to Patroclus?”

The little boy waved his cheese stick and Patroclus smiled. Then there was a shriek, because that’s all it could be called from somewhere deep in the house, and the women before him gave each other a fond look and sighed in amusement. 

“MOVE MOMS!” came a girly voice, and Patroclus took a deep breath. This was it then, the other girl; the lucky one who was getting adopted by the ladies in bright colors who lived in the yellow house.

A small olive toned arm pushed between the women, and then another, and with a laugh they stepped aside. There between them was a girl about his age. She had long curly brown hair, and big honey eyes. She smiled and her braces were every color of the rainbow. She was wearing two different socks, a weird skirt made of ties, and a black shirt that read ‘I’m just here so I don’t get fined.’ She looked Patroclus over, head to toe, then nodded.

“I’m Briseis,” she said. “You can call me Bri. Moms said you don’t say much, that’s okay though because I can talk enough for the both of us.”

Henriette, Jackie and Hope laughed, and Bri rolled her eyes. She stepped onto the porch in front of him and leaned in to whisper, “Your bag looks heavy. Do you want help carrying it inside?”

Patroclus’ fist tightened on the strap, he didn’t like when people touched his bag. He shook his head no, and Bri didn’t question it. Instead she shrugged and said, “Well follow me Patroclus, cool bracelet by the way.”

He felt pride well up in his chest, maybe he’d tell her about it someday. “Anyways, I’m starving and the moms said you’ve been driving a while. Tell me, do you like pop tarts?” 

Her smile was as honest as her mothers’ and Patroclus couldn’t help it; a warm bubbly feeling- one he’d feared was gone had brisen up inside of him, and so he said. “Strawberry?”

He heard the women in the doorway gasp, but pretended not to notice. Bri led him through the living room with its big brown couch and wall of books. Past a table that had been painted with every color imaginable, into a kitchen. 

It was huge, a big island dominated the space, and everywhere he looked there were plants. Bri was rifling through a cupboard as she continued to talk. “ _Do we have strawberry,_ he says. What are we, heathens?! You can sit on the stool over there Pat-“ she gestured over her shoulder blindly, and so he did as he was told. 

The women had sat down at the table to go over his file, though he knew they were all watching the kitchen. Bri pulled out two packs of pop tarts and grabbed two plates. “Do you like yours toasted? I do, but Mom 1 doesn’t. Because she’s weird, and says she doesn’t like ‘hot goo’ whatever that means.” There was a shrill noise from somewhere behind him, and the sound of a hand smacking something lightly. 

Patroclus nodded and Bri gave him a blinding smile. “Good. So here’s the deal, that cupboard there-“ she pointed at where she’d just come from, “is the ‘yes’ cupboard. It’s always full of snacks, some healthy, some junk- mom 2 says it’s important to have options. The ‘yes cupboard’ means you can have anything from it any time you want, even before dinner, even if you didn’t finish your food. No one can say no, so don’t feel bad, take as much as you want. You can even eat in your room! If there’s anything else you want in there just write it on the fridge list, and we can get it on Costco day.”

Patroclus’ jaw hung open, the girl before him talked more than anyone he’d ever met, and what she said was like a dream compared to what had been. Slowly he unwound the strap of his duffle and let it fall to the floor.

Bri sat next to him, and slid him a plate with two steaming pastries. She lifted hers up and nodded for him to do the same. When he did, she slapped them both together. “Here’s to a new life, you’re not going anywhere ever again.”

Patroclus took a deep breath. If he couldn’t go back to Greece, if he couldn’t see Achilles ever again... Then he thought _maybe_ Briseis could help fill the void.

_Please gods, let it be so._


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HEADS UP: This is the 3rd update tonight (1.27.21) So if you're just tuning in, jump back and start at 11 <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay y'all, I know I've dropped 3 chapters tonight, I just couldn't stop writing. But it's time for me to find sustenance, and like settle in. 
> 
> I'll most likely be back tomorrow with another update (or two or three depending on how it goes).
> 
> I'm so sorry if it's getting confusing, me adding multiple chapters a night. I'm just so excited!! But if you'd prefer I can stop and just start adding one a night even if I've written more. Lmk what you think!
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I did writing it. You'll get to know the family a bit more, and take a peak into what's next for our boy <3 there's also a surprise POV i hadn't planned on adding in here (but once I did I was like *YESSSS* ) as well as a tidbit of Achilles.
> 
> Thank y'all for coming along on this wild ass ride with me, and for all your comments and kuddos. Y'all are the fucking best, and I love you.
> 
> -kenz

On his first night, Bri showed him his room. It was connected to hers by a bathroom with jack and jill sinks. She helped him unpack his meager belongings and kept a list of everything she thought he needed. He wouldn’t start at school with her until the following week, and she said it was plenty of time to prepare it all.

For the first night in as long as he could remember, he fell into a dreamless sleep. 

The next day he woke to Bri singing off key in the bathroom, he rolled out of bed and made sure to tuck his blankets back as if he’d never been in them. Bri must have heard him, because the next thing he knew there was a knock on the door between his room and the bathroom, and a head of curls popped around the corner. Bri had toothpaste around her mouth and pulled out the light-up brush to reprimand him. “Eww, you make your bed? Why? You’re just going to sleep in it again.”

Patroclus looked back at the bed, with its two pillows and a blue comforter, then back to Bri. He shrugged and said, “You’re supposed to.”

“Yeah when you’re old. Stop doing that, you’re a kid. Make a mess, it’ll make you feel better.” She stuck her tongue out around her toothbrush, then disappeared behind the door. He heard her spit before she yelled, “Get your butt in here Pat!”

Patroclus did as he was told. He opened the door wide and found Bri smiling. She pointed at the sink closest to his door. “So there’s a boring toothbrush in there from the dentist, it’s new though don’t worry. Brush your teeth and we’ll go down for breakfast, the moms have a surprise.”

If he was honest, he didn’t know how to handle her enthusiasm, especially so early. But he decided to roll with it, his life had changed so many times, at least this was pleasant. He grabbed the new toothbrush, and she handed him a tube of pink sparkly paste. “Don’t worry it’s still mint. It just looks cooler,” she whispered conspiratorially. He laughed, and brushed his teeth, then followed her down the stairs.

The kitchen was so _alive,_ that’s all he could think. Jackie and Hope were dancing around to an old singer, she had a rich voice unlike anything he’d ever heard and Patroclus closed his eyes to listen. “You like it?” Jackie asked, and he started.

“Yeah.”

“Billie Holiday, absolute fuc- I mean freaking legend.” Jackie smiled and turned back to the stove to flip something that sizzled.

“Is that _bacon?_ ” Patroclus asked before he knew he was talking.

The room stopped, even Ollie where he sat on a stool pouring syrup over an empty plate. Slowly Jackie turned around, and Patroclus was worried she was angry. He started to apologize for speaking when she said in a very serious tone, “We didn’t even think, you’re not jewish are you? Or Muslim? Vegetarian maybe? It’s not a problem, we just didn’t know, we can totally get new utensils if you are and-”

“No,” Patroclus smiled. “I’m none of those things.”

“Okay,” Hope chimed in. “Because if you are, or want to be, just let us know and we’ll find you a temple or a mosque, or buy tofu. It’s not a problem.”

“No, it’s just...” He trailed off at a loss for words. 

Bri came up next to him and nudged his arm with her shoulder, “Just?” she prompted.

“Just that I haven’t had bacon in a really long time,” he said sheepishly. “It’s my favorite.”

The women of the house stared at him a moment, then turned to one another and nodded. Even Ollie seemed to agree, though Patroclus doubted he knew what too. “That’s it!” Hope declared. “Daughter not of my loins but of my heart, grab the rest of the bacon!” 

“Yes Ma’am!” Bri said with a salute and a laugh. She ran to the fridge and pulled out a pack of bacon that must have weighed 3 pounds. She tossed it to Jackie who caught it with her left hand while flipping bacon with the tongs in her right.

And just like that the Phillips family went on. They danced to Billie Holiday, made a pile of bacon so large they had to grab a huge bowl, and piled waffle sticks up to make little houses. 

Breakfast was amazing, and Patroclus found himself nodding along as the women sang off key while he ate his food. When he’d finished he got up to start on dishes, he wanted to prove to them he was worth keeping in their world of laughter and color, but a delicate hand on his arm stopped him halfway out of his chair. Patroclus looked up at Hope startled, and she winked.

“First of all Patroclus, no. We have a chore chart, and it’s not your day. We’ll get you added to the list later, it’s Jack and Ollie’s turn today, so sit down.” He sat with a nod.

Silence grew around the table once more, and he looked nervously between his foster moms, before he looked to Bri; she was practically vibrating in her chair. “W-what’s going on?” he asked skeptically.

“What’s your favorite color?” Jackie asked, apropos of nothing. 

He didn’t answer right away, so Ollie yelled, “PURPLE!” at the top of his little lungs.

“Yes dear, we know.” Hope said. They looked at him expectantly.

“I… Well I like green; like emeralds.” Patroclus answered honestly. Green had been his favorite color since the time he was 5 and he’d met a strange boy with eyes like jewels.

The women were smiling again, “... Why?” he asked.

“Well, you see Patroclus,” Jackie began. Hope and her seemed to talk in circles, always finishing each other's sentences. It’s what they did now as they explained.

Hope said. “The room your staying in is ugly-”

“The color on the walls makes my heart sad,” Bri added.

“So today we are going a few places,” Jackie smiled. “First we’re going to Home Depot and you’re picking out paint for your walls. It’s saturday so we have time to get it all ready and you can sleep on Bri’s trundle bed, or the couch while it dries. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

Patroclus knew his jaw was on the floor, he was probably drooling on himself, but he stayed quiet.

“And then,” Hope said. “We’re going to my favorite place: Target.” She said the name like a prayer. “You’re going to pick out any bedding you want, and some fun things to put on your walls.”

“We need to get you some stuff for school too,” Jackie added.

“And clothes!” Bri screeched.

“CLOTHES!” The women chorused.

Patroclus was shaking his head and his eyes were watering. They’d send him back soon, and he didn’t want them to waste their money on him. He didn’t deserve such kindness and it was too good to be true. He wanted to tell them _no, no they couldn’t._ He wanted to beg them _yes, yes please let me stay_

Instead he did what he did best, he ran. Away from the smiling faces at the table, and the woman who sang about God Blessing Children. He ran all the way up the stairs where he flew into his room and collapsed on the bed. He cried into his pillows for a long time, until….

Bri knocked on the door, and cracked it open. “Pat, mind if I come in?”

Patroclus rolled over and looked at her. He couldn’t stop crying but she didn’t judge him. She walked slowly up to the foot of his bed and took a seat. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to, Bri always had words.

“I know what it feels like, I was in 6 homes before I came here. And Jackie and Hope were all smiles and songs, colors and promises. I…” She shuffled and looked at the door, then back at him. “I didn’t believe them for a long time. They bought me all these clothes and I didn’t take the tags off because I _knew_ they’d take it back when they didn’t want me anymore. And I know I don’t know everything about you or how you got here, and I know this probably feels like a cruel joke, but I want to tell you something okay?”

Patroclus wiped his eyes and nodded, he moved to sit next to Bri. She chewed her lip as though going over her next words with a sincerity that rivaled Achilles. The thought was a pang in his heart, and a balm all the same; for a girl with a million words these would be important, he could tell. 

“My moms, they know everything. They get the files and they get the details I don’t know unless you tell me. I wont ever make you tell, but I’ll be here all the same. I-I don’t know if your case worker told you, but my moms they’re adopting me. I’m going to be Briseis Phillips soon.” She smiled proudly.

Patroclus nodded, he knew that much.

“But something I don’t know if she told you was that my moms, they’ve been looking for someone like you for a long time. I know it’s only been a day, but… But they’ve always wanted a big family. This, this here-” she gestured around them. “It isn’t meant to be temporary. They told me that if I said yes, they’d like to foster to adopt with you too, because even on paper they knew they wanted you. And I know, because I know things about people, I _know_ that we’re meant to be friends, Patroclus. I don’t know how I know, but I do. So as scary as it is, everything they’re offering, I can promise it’s all in hope that you’ll choose us back. I’m sorry if we came on too strong... We didn’t mean to scare you.”

After that she was quiet, and Patroclus thought long and hard about everything she said; everything she offered. There was a mean little voice in his head, it sounded like his father, telling him it was a joke- it wouldn’t last. But he shoved it down deep. 

He wanted what she was offering, and even if it came crashing down around him, he wanted it all the same. 24 hours with the Phillips clan, and it was like he could breathe for the first time since Greece. And so Patroclus dried the rest of his tears, and turned back to Bri. 

He took a deep breath and he prayed to Achilles’ Gods. 

To his mother’s God.

To Fate.

To the universe.

To the magic coin.

To everything.

And then he said, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Bri squeaked.

Patroclus nodded, and couldn’t help his small smile. It may be a fairy tale, it may not work, but he’d made his choice to dive in head first- what did he really have left to lose? 

“Okay. I want that too.” He said.

Bri threw herself at him, her spindly arms wrapping themselves tightly around his neck, and Patroclus remembered what it meant to be hugged. How something so simple had the power to ground you, to put you back together, to keep you safe. He held her back, smiling all the while into her curls. In the hall he could hear whispers, it seemed they hadn’t been as alone as he’d thought.

“You’re not sneaky!” Bri called out, and Patroclus laughed when Jackie said, “Yes we are!” from right outside his door.

A bundle of energy slammed into his legs and Patroclus looked down to see Ollie, his dark almond eyes were crinkled at their edges and his gappy-smile was huge. “You staying?” He said.

Patroclus nodded and reached down for the little boy. “Yeah, that okay?”

Ollie jumped up and down and squealed, and then there were more arms. 

Jackie and Hope held the three children in a tight hug, until their breath made everyone sweaty, and Ollie screamed, “PAINT STORE!”

That second night was one he’d never forget. Exhausted from a long day of shopping and painting, the five of them sat on the couch eating popcorn and watching a superhero movie. Patroclus watched each of them for a time, memorizing the feeling of joy that warmed his every atom; it was foreign but pleasant. His eyes slid to Bri last where she sat with him, hip to hip, and he found her staring back.

Briseis smiled, and Patroclus smiled back.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For everything.”

“Always.”

They cuddled down into the blanket they shared, and watched as heroes beat villains, and the world was rescued. He sent a silent prayer to Achilles, wherever he was, that he would be okay; and then he leaned his head on Bri’s shoulder.

The Phillips family were many things…

They were loud.

They were bright.

They were possibly insane; but only in the best way.

They were kind, and intelligent.

They were giving, and gracious.

But most important of all, the Phillips family were his. 

_____________________________________________________

**Somewhere between space and time, above and below, everywhere and nowhere…**

_Three women watched as the young boy laid his head on his sister’s shoulder._

_There was a collective sigh._

_“Rest now, Patroclus.” They said as one…_

_____________________________________________________

**Phthia**

Achilles fiddled with the bracelet around his wrist. The silk was well worn, and he had to add colors to it when they frayed… But he never took it off. He prayed to the Gods that Patroclus hadn’t either, wherever he was; And that he was okay.

As his father continued his story by the light of a yew fire, Achilles closed his eyes…

_What good are you, Aristos Achaion? Patroclus screams.  
_

_I do not know, he says._

_Rich brown eyes with honey gold bursts look at him in betrayal._

_Patroclus speaks but it is not his voice. It is that of the Fates…_

_Achilles, they say through Patroclus’ mouth. Do you wish to become a God?_

_I do not know, he says again._

“Achilles!” He sits straight up on the floor, his breath coming fast pants.

“Y-yes father?”

“You are tired, boy. Go and get some rest, we’ll continue the story tomorrow.” Peleus replied gently.

Achilles kissed his father’s brow, then returned to his room.

He bypassed the bed, as he always did, instead choosing to lay on the palette he refused to let them move.

As he pulled the furs up to his shoulders, he thought back on the dream that felt like more.

_Do I wish to become a god?_ He asked himself, and his answer was the same.

“I do not know.” he whispered to the dark. Then closed his eyes once more.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff! 
> 
> Update #1 of today, 1.29.2021

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't update last night, I decided to take a little break but I'm back today with the first chapter of what I'm sure will be multiple today.
> 
> Some notes:  
> -This chapter is legit all fluff, I know it features a lot of OOC's and that's not everyone's cup of tea, but it's important for the story line here, I promise. I've tried to avoid the OOC's when I could but like yeah. For character growth we need them.  
> \- This chapter focuses on the first few months he spends in the Phillips house with Bri, and his own journey of becoming himself in the face of tragedy  
> -The next few chapters (I'm thinking there will be two more set in this chunk of time) will cover Patroclus' life from age 11-13ish? I want to stress the importance of his growth here before I dive back into the plot of 'Time'  
> -Also, I know there is length variety between my chapters. It's because of how my brain works the scenes through, some I feel need to be rapid and other's longer. I know it's weird, but I have a weird mind so we'll go with it.
> 
> I plan to update at least two more chapters today, because I'm off work (could be more, I'll keep track in the a/n with dates and a count so you'll know if you missed anything). So keep an eye out for that! And as always thank you for your comments and kuddos <3 I love the analysis, and that you're all following this mess of a story! It makes me excited because of Easter eggs I've already laid and what is to come. 
> 
> Anyways, here's some middle school fluff ft. Pat and Bri (side note: I decided they were born in 2000 so that's how I'm determining ages for this fic/ pop culture references in case you were curious.)
> 
> -Kenzi

For the first time in his life, Patroclus found he looked forward to school each day. Hope worked at the primary school down the road from the Phillips house, but was close with teachers at his secondary school. In an effort to make him more comfortable with the transition, and after talking to Patroclus privately, the decision was made to pull a few strings so that he could share each class with Bri for his first semester. 

He would wake each morning rested in a sea of pillows atop his bed in the green room. Patroclus would meet Bri in the bathroom and they’d stand side by side at their sinks preparing for the day. It was how Patroclus learned many things, about the other kids at his school, about Bri’s life, how to braid hair, and that apparently you weren’t supposed to wear brown and black at the same time.

His first day he’d been nervous, when his alarm went off at 5:30 am he’d already been standing before his closet. When he was little he’d had uniforms, and then he’d had a single duffle bag of clothes; what hung in his closet in the Phillips house was a virtual menagerie of color. He’d been wearing his big sweatshirt, as he did most nights to sleep- still a comfort from the last adult to truly care what happened to him; it was silly, but it brought him a sense of peace.

Bri had crept in wiping sleep from her eyes, dressed in footie-jammies that looked like a unicorn; And Patroclus had turned to her with a helpless expression, gesturing at the closet. He didn’t need words, and he was grateful. Bri had smiled and shouldered past him.

His first day of school saw Patroclus in a pair of skinny jeans and black vans. She’d pulled him a graphic T-shirt for a band he’d never heard of, Panic! something, that Bri promised would give him an ‘edge,’ She paired it with a black hoodie. When he saw himself in the mirror after she’d left, he couldn’t help his smile. He looked _so cool._

When they came home from school Patroclus would go to the ‘yes cupboard’ to grab them snacks, and together he and Bri would slave over their homework. What followed could have been anything, some days it was their favorite TV show about Drag Queens, on others it errands. Each day felt like a new adventure, and as time wore on he found he’d stopped questioning when he’d have to leave, and started making plans for all the things he’d do in the future.

Henriette visited, and when she came she’d pull him aside to check in. She’d ask him questions, things designed to weed out any problems he may be having. Each time she’d laugh as Patroclus went on and on about whatever he and Bri had been up too. 

On one of her more memorable visits, he’d forgotten Henriette was coming. It was his turn to help Bri clean the kitchen and put away the dishes. While their chores always got done, the pair tended to go about things their own way. He’d been standing on the island with her, a colander on his head and wooden spoon in hand; Bri was wearing a glittery apron around her shoulders like a cape and oven mitts. ‘Born this Way’ had been on repeat as the two belted Lady Gaga at the top of their lungs. 

Ollie sat on a stool by the light switches bopping his spiky head, and flipping different sets on and off, he was good that way- always the lights manager for their impromptu concerts.

Because it was something that happened with regularity, Jackie and Hope hadn’t thought to warn him; instead they led Henriette into the kitchen, and as Patroclus screamed the final “I was born this way, Hey!” and Bri spoke in her lowest sexy voice, “Same DNA….. But born this way…” Their performance was met with raucous applause. Slowly the three children turned to see the women, and Henriette cheering from the kitchen table. 

He’d felt his cheeks heat considerable, and Patroclus reached up to pull the colander from his curls with a guilty look. Bri had started laughing immediately, and he nudged her with his elbow. “Shut up,” he hissed. She didn’t, it was her greatest flaw and most endearing quality. Hope walked over to turn off the music and the two slid from the counter, Bri still giggling behind her mitts.

Henriette smiled then, like she had each time she came to visit, and Patroclus waved. “You didn’t tell me you could sing!” she crowed.

“I.. uhm,” he stuttered. 

“He’s in choir with me, and we’re thinking of trying out for the school play this spring,” Bri took over for him, as she always did when he couldn’t find his words.

“That’s incredible!” Henriette said, “Let me know when your debut is, and I’ll be sure to be there.”

The rest of their meeting had gone the typical way, until the end when she pulled him out to the back porch for their one on one. Henriette had smiled a soft smile. “I’m proud of you, Patroclus.” she said. 

“Oh, uhm thanks.”

“You have grown so much the past few months, and I can’t tell you how much joy it brings me. I… My job isn’t easy, and though I do my best I…” Henriette clasped her hands in front of her and stared at the large tree that stood at the center of the back yard. 

It was the tree Patroclus had taught Bri to climb on, just as Achilles had taught him; the place where they’d sneak out to watch meteor showers, or dance beneath the full moon. It was his favorite place, a haven where he and his sister carved their initials into the trunk. 

“I do my best, but it’s rare for that to ever feel like enough. When I met you,” she turned back to him with her soft smile. “I had this feeling, like fate or something. I don’t know, and I probably shouldn’t say this but you won’t tell right?”

Patroclus shook his head, he could keep a secret.

“There was something about you, and I knew that it would be my greatest goal in life to help you find your place. I, I let you down at first and it was something that kept me awake. I’ve helped so many other children, and every one of them had a different pain they carried. But with you, I could see something profound and I dreamed of finding you a real place to belong. I feel like this time, I haven’t let you down. You seem happy here, Patroclus. Every time I come to visit it’s like your world is full of color, and I go home feeling like I’m doing what I’m meant to be.”

“You never let me down,” Patroclus whispered. He fiddled with the ribbon on his wrist, and looked seriously at his case worker. “I think that I was supposed to have all that other stuff happen, so I could appreciate it here, ya know? And I’m so grateful.”

Henriette smiled and it was radiant, her eyes were all wet. “Thank you, Henriette. For saving me.” He said.

She couldn’t speak, and so she just nodded; a single tear broke free and trailed down her warm brown cheek. Patroclus hugged her then, and it was nice. They made their way back into the house, and she left not long after.

Three months later, Patroclus called her. 

“This is Henriette,” she said in a very professional voice.

“Henriette, Hi. It’s, it’s Patroclus.” He was nervous, and his voice shook a little. Bri smiled at him from across the table, and the women gave him a thumbs up as they listened in on speaker phone.

“Patroclus, sweetheart is everything okay?” Henriette’s voice had taken on a serious tone.

“No, Yes! I mean yes, everything’s okay. It’s great actually, I wanted to call you to tell you something.” His heart was beating hard with pride.

“Alright…”

“Remember when Bri told you we might try out for the play? Well, I did.”

“I’m so proud of you!” Henriette cheered.

“Thank you, I uhm. Well I’m calling because I actually got one of the lead parts, and our opening night is next week, and I really want you to come. If you can. If you’re busy it’s okay, but, uhm yeah…” He trailed off lamely.

What came next was incoherent screaming, very far from the professional Henriette that had answered the phone. The Phillips clan laughed, and Patroclus waited with shaking hands for her answer.

“Of course I’ll be there! Is Bri in the play too?”

“I am!” Bri responded. “It’s a musical, ‘Hercules’. I get to be Meg, and Pat’s going to be Hercules! He has to wear fake muscles though, and It’s hilarious.”

Patroclus shoved her with a laugh, the truth was it was ridiculous. The fact that he’d tried out for the unnamed musical, only to find out it was set in ancient Greece. On their first day of trying on costumes, the director had held out a pile of chitons and been shocked as Patroclus wrapped his with ease. He’d smiled, and shrugged it off, then gone to help Bri. 

“What?” he said when she gave him a strange look, “I like ancient Greece, okay?”

The fake muscles were thankfully only for his arms. Each time they went to rehearsal and the world fell away to become one he’d seen long ago, he thought of his Therapon. _What is Achilles doing now?_ He’d ponder, then shake his head. He was probably long forgotten by his princely best friend, Achilles was a warrior, and he’d be training or swimming, or whatever it was heros did. 

He refused to look more into his friend’s history. He didn’t know why the drachma had sent him back in time, but he didn’t want to know his friend’s fate. He refused to believe that he was anything but alive, and for as long as Patroclus lived he’d continue believing Achilles did too, just somewhere far away. It was what helped him sleep.

“First of all, I love the Greeks so this is amazing.” Henriette said. “What time is your show?”

“It’s next Friday at 7, at the school. We got you a ticket, because Jackie and Hope said you’d say yes, and they said if you wanted you could just meet them here and ride over with them.”

“That sounds perfect, I can’t wait!” Henriette replied. They gave their goodbyes, and when she’d hung up he let out a deep breath. He’d never had so many people care about what he did, and the foreign feeling was all encompassing. 

He looked up from the phone, first to Bri, always to Bri; The girl who in a few months had gone from stranger, to confidant, to sister. Then to Ollie where he was building a leggos at the table; then to Hope and Jackie. 

The two women were kind, far more than he ever thought he deserved. He realized then, as they held each other’s hands across the table smiling back, that he had something here. He’d lost his mom when he was five and it had hurt, her memory waisted away beneath the dust that gathered on her pictures in his father’s house.

No one ever talked about her, and so she became a feeling, an impression of a person. She didn’t lose her meaning to his heart, but his mind lost its bone deep attachment. It was like, when he’d be doing something fun and then suddenly he remembered his mom was dead; he felt guilty for forgetting, and run through all his memories as if to apologize to a ghost. He didn’t love her any less, but he’d lived longer without her than with, and it meant his heart needed more. The women across from him were that _more._

His heart pounded against his ribs so hard he swore they cracked, it was in his ears, his throat. His face felt hot and his hands shook, but once he’d thought it he couldn’t stop. 

What he said next he thought may be the most important words he’d ever spoken to the Phillips women, to any one really- except for an oath shared over a sharp stone, in a far away place. Patroclus cleared his throat, and their attention turned fully to him.

He did it again, and swallowed past the lump he found. His cheeks were hot when he said, “I… I have something to ask you.”

Jackie and Hope shot one another a look, it was quick, but in that time they’d straightened their spines and held each other’s hands just that much tighter. 

Patroclus smiled weakly. “My mom died, ya know? When I was little, and I don’t remember her a lot. But, uhm. Well I know she loved me, and she probably would be okay with it, that is if it’s okay with you. But if it’s not, it’s fine and we can like, pretend this never happened, and that’ll be a little weir-”

“Patroclus,” Hope said softly. Encouragingly. Bri scooted her chair over toward him, and put her hand on his arm. Her dark brows were drawn low, it was rare in the time they’d lived together for him not to have consulted her first on something important. He prayed she wouldn’t be mad. “What is it, sweetheart?”

He shifted uncomfortably and dropped his eyes to his bracelet. “I,” he whispered. “I wanted to tell you that I love you all, and I-” his voice shook, “I was w-wondering if maybe it would be okay for me to call you mom, l-like Bri and Ollie do?”

Jackie made a choking sound, and Hope gasped. 

And then it was the sound of two chairs being forcefully pushed back, and two sets of footsteps running around a table. 

It was 4 arms, two pale, two rich and tattooed. 

It was kisses on his head, and tears in his hair. 

It was _yes, baby._

And _of course sweetheart._

And _we love you always._

It was this, and this, and this.

Patroclus felt the well inside his heart fill even further. He was loved by the Phillips family, and it was more than he could ever dream of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I looked it up, Hercules is a musical. I could have like made it something different but I'm not because the feels and also I'm a fucking sucker for that entire movie. Also can you picture the random kid who plays Hades in a blue foam wig? because I can, and that brings me the lolz


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a play, and a ghost.
> 
> A bit of blood.
> 
> Secrets are revealed and Patroclus celebrates his 12th birthday 
> 
> Update #2 on 1.29.2021

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it's early here and I'm on a roll.
> 
> This is chapter 2 I've put out today and I think I can safely say at least two more are coming tonight (maybe more if I can't sleep).
> 
> This is so extra but I love it, and honestly 12yo emo Bri is my fucking favorite, I hope you love her too.
> 
> This will cover the rest of his year with the Phillips house. It's looking like, now that I've got this down, there will be two more chapters in the modern time, before more plot happens.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this! And as always, thanks for reading <3
> 
> -Kenz

The stage lights dropped low, and a spot hit him from up in the rafters. Patroclus stood atop a fake boulder in front of a crystal blue ocean backdrop. He took a deep breath, it was his biggest solo moment- and he let himself feel the words down into his soul as he sang out to the audience in his cotton chiton.

_I have often dreamed_

_Of a far off place_

_Where a great warm welcome_

_Will be waiting for me_

_Where the crowds will cheer_

_When they see my face_

_And a voice keeps saying_

_This is where I’m meant to be_

He stepped off the boulder, and the sets moved on their wheels pushed by his fellow cast members. The sunset became a forest, and as he wandered through the fake cypress grove, he looked at his bracelet. 

He was there too, Achilles. In Patroclus’ mind; a ghost amongst the tree trunks. He had his lyre and a smile as bright as the sun. Patroclus looked then to the ghost, and sang to him alone.

_I will find my way_

_I can go the distance_

_I’ll be there someday_

_If I can be strong_

The ghost of his Therapon spun around and Patroclus smiled. This play had brought him closer to his prince than he’d been in so long, and when he sang this song he felt like his voice had the power to cross time. He prayed that Achilles could hear him from wherever he was, that somehow Fate or magic would bring him peace and let him know Patroclus remembered; he would always remember.

_I know every mile_

_Will be worth my while_

_I would go most anywhere_

_To feel like I belong_

The show ended, and the cast took to the stage in a long line. As the lights came up over the audience, and they held hands to bow, Patroclus felt both happy and melancholy in equal measure. He stepped away from the line with Bri, they held their hands high above their heads and the applause increased. His sister smiled at him, radiant in her purple dress, and together they took a final bow. 

As he raised his head up to get one last look at the crowd, he saw his Achilles, his ghost, in the back of the auditorium cheering loudly. He jumped up and down in front of a large man, who didn’t notice the imaginary boy, his eyes glued instead on the stage; a reminder that Achilles wasn’t truly there. He was handsome, and Patroclus blushed- which was weird. He shouldn’t be blushing at someone’s dad. His ghost reached out a hand from in front of the man, and Patroclus reached back; the curtains closed, and Patroclus left his imaginary friend behind to find his family.

His mom’s and Henriette were proud, they’d all brought him and Bri flowers, and took them to dinner to celebrate. It was the perfect end to his first school year. Even though they still had a few weeks. 

He was proud, he was loved, he was _alive_ in a way he hadn’t been for a long time. 

A few months later, he lay with Bri on a blanket beneath their tree. It was nearly midnight, and she said he had to wait up to celebrate his birthday. He’d be 12 this year, and that was a big deal. It meant he was almost a teenager, and it being his first birthday with his new family, she said they needed to do it right.

The clock rolled over, and at exactly midnight Bri sat up with a smile. “Happy birthday, Pat.” She smiled and it was warm. He returned it with a quiet, “Thank you.”

They lay beneath the tree for hours, and it was at some point, deep in the witching hour, when a shooting star crossed the sky that Patroclus closed his eyes. He’d been thinking about it for a long time, even more since the play. It had brought back so many memories, and Patroclus knew what he wanted. So he wished on that star, that what he did next would work. He prayed hard to every god out there, then opened his eyes and rolled his face to look at his sister.

“Bri?”

“Yeah?” she said, rolling her own face to watch him.

“Remember when I first came here, and you said you hoped I’d tell you about this?” He lifted his left wrist and wiggled the bracelet back and forth. She nodded seriously, and he took a deep breath.

“I… I think I’m ready to tell you about it... about everything. But, I don’t know if you’ll believe me. I- I wouldn’t believe me, to be honest.”

“I’ll believe you, I promise.” She assured him. He shook his head and sat up; Bri followed suit with a skeptical look, drawing her own knees criss-crossed to mirror his position.

“No, you don’t understand. What I have to tell you, Bri, it makes me sound insane, but I’m not. You know I’m not crazy, right?”

Bri nodded seriously, “What is it, Pat?”

He stared at her for a long time, and then took a deep breath. He’d never done this before, never wanted to. And then he came here, and he’d spent months falling in love with a family. Each night he’d think about what he’d say, if ever he told Bri. He’d gone over every reaction, from the insane, to the cruel. He’d practiced the words a million times, but he found himself unable to pinpoint the right ones. He _needed_ her to believe him, like he needed air.

His thoughts were interrupted when a warm hand, smaller than his own, laid down across his where he rubbed the bracelet. He opened his eyes, and Bri was there. “You can tell me anything, you’re my best friend.”

Patroclus nodded, and swallowed hard. He took a deep breath and then he said, “Just promise you’ll listen to me until the end okay? I’ll answer any questions I can after, but let me just get this out.”

“Okay,” she said. “I promise.”

“When I was 5 my mother died,” she knew that already but he didn’t know how else to begin. “I remember the funeral was awful, and then the house was full of people and my father- he left me alone. I couldn’t breathe, and then I knew I had to get out, so… So I ran, all the way to this lake in the middle of the forest behind our house.”

Bri watched him carefully, but kept true to her promise and remained quiet. He swallowed again before he could continue.

“I was, I was so sad. I remember it hurt… breathing hurt. And I was right by the water, curled up, alone. And then,” he shifted. This was the part he didn’t think she’d believe but prayed she would. _If you’re out there and you care, please let her believe me,_ he said to the gods.

“And then there was this voice, I remember thinking it was my mom. It said my name, and I answered. And then it wasn’t one voice but it was three, and it told me to look down. T-there was this coin on the ground where there hadn’t been before, and I picked it up. It was weird and heavy, bronze not silver, and it had the face of three women on the back. The women, they talked then and they said it was a debt, a beginning and an end. It didn’t make sense, but before I could ask there was this, this feeling. You know when you jump in a pool, and there’s that moment where you don’t weigh anything, and the wind rushes by your face, and you swear you can fly?”

Briseis nodded.

“It was like that, kind of. I fell for a long, long time. And when I landed, I was on a beach. My suit was gone, I was wearing what I thought was a dress, and I was by the ocean. I didn’t know what to do so I cried until I fell asleep.

And then something hit me in the face, it was this funny purple fruit, one I’d never seen. And I was mad because it stained my dress. I was still on the beach and then more fruit came. That’s when I found him.”

“Him?” Bri asked, her eyes glued to him.

“A boy. He was my age and wore a silly dress too. He had long blonde hair like a girl, and big green eyes. He wasn’t wearing any shoes and when I told him to say sorry, he said no. I’d learn later it was a chiton, and that boy? He was a prince. He took me to his palace and his father let me sleep over, they said they’d find my dad but the next day, a coin fell out of nowhere and the prince, he said it was mine. So I took it, and I woke up again by the lake.”

“Well,” Bri started.

“I’m not done.” he told her. “I know what you’re going to say though, I thought it was a dream for a long time. But then my dad died when I was 10. And I know things happen, crazy things when you’re sad, I know that. But I ran away again and hid in this storage room in the Cathedral and then I heard a coin fall again. I was sad, and happy- I prayed that it wasn’t a joke. I reached under this rack of clothes and pulled out the same coin; and then I was back. I was back in a chiton, in a closet full of old pottery and when I left, I found him again; the blonde boy, the prince. He- he remembered me, Bri. He did.”

He went on, he told her of the palace, and the king. Of climbing trees and swimming in the ocean. He told her about the lyre, and the figs, about the other boys and most of all about the boy whose mother was a goddess. _Aristos Achaion._

He went on and on, until the sky turned the ashy grey of pre-dawn. Until his throat was so dry it cracked as he spoke. 

He told her about it all, about the boy who would become a hero; _Achilles,_ he said. _His name is Achilles._ Bri listened, and her face held no judgement. She laughed when he laughed and cried when he did. He showed her his scar, and told her all about the ritual of becoming a Therapon. Then he told her about the bracelet, and she laughed when he said that’s why he never took it off even though it was ugly.

Finally he told her of the last day, of the slave girl and the woman with the shell. About seeing Achilles running, and the drachma. And when he was all done, Bri sat there for a long time. 

She was uncharacteristically quiet, and Patroclus braced himself for the worst. _She doesn’t believe you,_ his father taunted in his mind. _She’s going to tell the moms and their going to give you back because you’re crazy._

“Please say something, Bri.” Patroclus pleaded.

“Well…” Bri said. She let out a huge breath that fluttered her bangs. “First of all that was, like a lot. Like, don’t tell moms I said this, but holy shit, Pat.”

He snorted. Bri liked to try out new curse words when it was just the two of them, she always told him not to tell- not that he would. They sounded funny in her mouth, not like how an adult used them, but like they belonged as weird as they were. Bri had always been her own kind of human, blunt and unapologetically herself.

“I guess, well.. I guess I should say that I believe you. I don’t know why because you sound like a grade-A crazy pants, but I do. It’s like, you know to much? I don’t know, it’s a feeling. Kinda like the one I had about you the first day, and that turned out alright. And then there’s the whole bit about how they found you. You were in a chiton, you said?”

Patroclus nodded with a small smile. 

“That’s definitely not normal, and you knew how to tie them so well for the play. I thought you’d just played pretend a lot, but this makes more sense as weird as that sounds. 

But moving on. Achilles, holy shit buckets. Like, everyone knows that name- that’s crazy. And he chose you? Of course he did. He’d be an idiot if he didn’t, though I’m a bit jealous about the blood oath bit, that’s metal as hell. We should do a blood oath, ya know, just so it’s even-”

Patroclus tackled her then, holding her tight around her tiny shoulders as whispered his ‘thank you’s over and over again into her curls. She hugged him back until she got too hot, then shoved him back. Together they laid down again, to watch the sunrise. 

“I gotta ask one thing though,” She said softly. He rolled his head to look at her across the blanket and found her looking back. “If, if you find the drachma again… Will you go back?”

Patroclus reached his hand to grab hers, he squeezed it between them. He thought long and hard about the question, and he knew what she meant. If he did, who knows how long he’d be gone, or if he’d ever come back. Could he leave Bri? Leave Jackie, and Hope, and Ollie, and Henriette? 

_Yes._

He would be sad, but it didn’t change his mind.

Patroclus hadn’t answered, but it must have been plainly written on his face. Bri took a deep stuttering breath, and wiped at her eyes. 

“Of course, of course. You have to, don’t you? I mean it’s magic, and this is all just, _life._ ”

“There’s beauty in normal life, Bri. Always has been.” He whispered. “I’d miss you all so much, and even if I never came back, I’d always love you. You’re my sister, Bri. But Achilles, he…”

“He’s your heart.”

It was funny, hearing it said like that. In the grand scheme of things he’d known the prince for 8 days. 8 days against the months he’d lived in the room nextdoor to Bri. He didn’t love her any less or any more, but it was different, and she understood. He felt like he would drown in the guilt.

“I’m sorry, Bri.”

“Don’t. You love him.”

“I- I love you too, Bri.”

“But it’s different, isn’t it?” She said kindly. It made his heart pound. Something about the way she talked about it, like it was normal for him to feel the way he did about a ghost.

“He’s a boy, Bri.” Patroclus said, as if it meant anything. 

“We literally have two moms, you neanderthal.” Bri rolled her eyes.

He felt like a shit bucket the moment he said it; and not just because it had become clear to him in the last few months that, as the other boys in school talked about hot girls, he found himself looking back at the boys and thinking the same. He thought of the hot dad at his play, and his music teacher. Of the Brendan Urie poster that hung over his bed, and the men on Drag Race. He blushed.

“So like I said, you love him.”

“I’m 12.” He argued instead.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Even if I did go back, there’s no guarantee he’d remember me. Or… Ya know… feel the same. I’d probably just make a fool of myself and then be stuck there trying to act normal or something.”

“Ahhhh, gay panic. Good to know it’s timeless.” Bri laughed and he smacked her stomach. 

She rolled over to look at him, and as the sun broke the horizon and the world became a cotton candy wonderland, Briseis said. “He’d be an idiot not to love you back Patroclus, you’re the most amazing person in the world.”

Patroclus smiled at her, and his heart felt full. “I love you Bri.”

“I love you too.” She replied.

The moms came down a little after that, they sang him Happy Birthday from the back porch and made a literal trough of bacon. It was an incredible day, the best birthday he’d ever had. He loved these people dearly, and while he meant what he’d said, about if he found Achilles again, there was part of him that whispered. _What if you stayed?_

That night, after the candles had been wished upon, and the presents put away. When Jackie and Hope had long gone to bed, Bri turned to him from across the couch with a strange look in her eyes. “I need you to go to the tree.” she said, apropos of nothing.

Patroclus’ brows drew together and he opened his mouth to respond, but Bri waved her hand.

“No. Don’t give me that look _Patroclus,_ just do as you're told. I’ll be right there.”

He slowly made his way out to the tree where he sat with his back against the trunk. It was only a few minutes later that Bri came out holding something behind her back. She smiled at him and he cocked his head.

“What’cha got?” he asked.

“I have one last gift for you, couldn’t give it to you in front of the moms.” She replied with a shrug. She sat in front of him and handed him a bag. It was green, and it had rainbow tissue paper. He looked at her and smiled before he dug in.

“Be careful!” she warned. He shot her an odd look, then moved more slowly.

He pulled out a roll of paper towels, and then…

“Bri… what the hell?” He asked as he pulled out a steak knife.

“So I was thinking, if you could just get magicked back to your hero at any moment, and you might not get to say goodbye, we could have our own little Therapon ritual.” He looked up at her slack jawed, and she giggled.

“I wasn’t kidding about the blood oath jealousy, Pat. You’re my best friend, and if he gets to take you then I want you to remember me. Plus, again. It’s metal as hell. But We’re going to do it better because if this blonde dick gets to steal my person, then I get the better scar.” She had a wicked glint in her eye and Patroclus rocked back holding the knife. 

Bri cackled like a witch, then held out her hand. He passed her the knife skeptically. “Okay, so… Uhm, well... How do we do it then? Is it all Ya Ya sisterhood, or is there like a spell or something?” 

Patroclus smiled, and she blushed. “We uhm, well we cut our thumbs and then we press them together, and then well… Achilles had me say some weird shit in greek, but I think it’s okay if we make up our own words.”

“Cool. Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool.” Brie said, then drew the knife across her palm. “OW! Shit buckets! Fuckity bitch socks!” she held her hand cradled to her chest. Patroclus’ eyes were wide.

“What the hell Bri?! I said cut your thumb, not cut your hand off oh my god. OHMYGOD!”

“Hurry up Pat, it hurts.” 

Patroclus fumbled for the knife where it had fallen at her knees. He brought it up to his thumb and Bri gave him a withering glare.

“No, asshole. Whole hand. Bigger scar, better friends, _capiche?_ ” She growled.

Patroclus nodded and took a deep breath, drawing the knife across his own palm. 

It stung so much worse than the rock. In fact it was the worst pain he’d ever experienced. He released his own litany of absurd curse words, and then looked at Bri.

They lifted their hands up, pressing them together, palm to palm, beneath the full moon.

“I promise I’ll always be your best friend,” she said. “I’ll always be here even if I’m far away, always believe you, always protect you.”

“I promise I’ll always be your best friend,” he repeated. “I’ll always be here even if I’m far away, always believe you, always protect you.”

Bri nodded. “I love you always.”

“I love you always.” he smiled as the blood ran down their hands into the earth below their tree. It was funny, he didn’t feel like he wanted to puke seeing his own blood this time. He decided it was progress.

They cleaned themselves up with the paper towels, and Bri had brought along gauze and tape. They took turns bandaging the other’s hand. When they finished, Bri handed him the birthday bag again.

“I already got the knife,” Patroclus waggled his wrapped hand at her.

“You missed something.” She said with a smile.

Patroclus reached into the bag and felt a small box. He pulled it out, shooting her a look. She just wiggled her eyebrows like an idiot. 

He turned back to pull the lid off. Inside were two sets of string, knotted on one end each, the rest free and ready to be tied into intricate paterns. There was green, and purple like Ollie loved, red like Hope’s hair, and blue like the tattoos on Jackie’s arm. There was black- Bri’s favorite, and Patroclus felt his eyes water as he looked at her. 

“We can start them tomorrow, I’ll teach you how you’re supposed to tie them.” She said with a smug look. 

Patroclus laughed and threw his arm around her shoulder. “It’s amazing Bri, thank you.”

Bri nodded, her curls rocking against his own where she’d leaned her head to his. “I also bought us beads, to decorate them. They’re going to be dope.” She said. Then quieter, “Suck it, Achilles.” 

And all Patroclus could do was laugh.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Update #3 on 1.29.2021
> 
> TW: The use of the F slur is used in this chapter. 
> 
> Also a flash of some Achilles' pov!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the note says above, the F slur is used in this chapter twice (in the same scene, by the same bully.) I promise he get's shut the fuck down, but he is a big douche bag (so much so I didn't see fit to give him a name.)
> 
> If you need to skip I'll include brief summary of scene in end notes. (stop reading at 'He was 12 when a boy called him a name..'. and you can pick it back up at 'the sub tapped his square jaw...')
> 
> Other than that TW, this chapter spans the year he is 12, which means next chapter he's 13 and if you're asking yourself, "did the fates just leave him?" no, no they didn't. I'm sure you can guess what's coming.... (thank gooooods).
> 
> I'll have more chapters coming out tonight <3 as always, I adore you all.
> 
> -Kenzi

When he was 12, Patroclus found himself in ways he didn’t expect. It was a new haircut, trimmed on the sides and long on top. It was a growth spurt that made his limbs look like noodles and saw him towering over Bri. It was in his matching scar, one they’d eventually fessed up to when the mom’s didn’t believe their lie about falling out of the tree. _You’re idiots, never change,_ Hope had told them with a rueful smile.

It was his first Pride parade with the Phillips women, and Bri telling him she liked girls as they stood beneath rainbow balloons.

It was the both of them coming out to their mom’s, because things were easier together. They did it casually in the middle of another dancing breakfast, one sunday in fall, when the leaves had covered their back yard in shades of orange. It was the rainbow party their moms had thrown that night, a large cake with sprinkles, streamers, and so much glitter he found it places months later.

It was Christmas, a real one, with a tree and lights; pretending they still believed in the fat man for Ollie’s sake. Then staying up with the girls to eat the cookies. “It’s for the ‘accuracy’, Pat.”Jackie said.

It was a new year, and though his classes weren’t all the same as Bri, he found he was still okay. They ate their lunches huddled with their friends, gossiping about the newest music and the cutest boys. 

It was his second first crush on a boy, he was tall and blonde, he ran track and Patroclus thought him lovely. Bri had asked him when he’d confessed, if he only liked Brett because he looked like Achilles, and he’d thought for a long time about that. 

It was lessons in music, another musical, and falling in love with school in different ways. He had science with Bri, and they’d huddle together over their labs whispering dreams of becoming doctors because they’d started watching Grey’s Anatomy in secret; They both thought it would be fun. 

It was dream boards and new posters on his wall, class projects, and family outings.

Henriette still came, and she always left smiling. He was grateful for his support network, and as it grew he found peace. 

But it wasn’t always happy, there were hard things too. Like when Hope’s dad died, and they went to the funeral. Patroclus had felt sick, he hated funerals, hated dead people; but what he hated most of all was that he didn’t know how to help the people he loved even though they were hurting. 

Bri got her period that year, and it was super gross. She’d been kind of a bitch for a few days, but Patroclus stuck with it because they were best friends. And then she’d busted through his bathroom door at 4 am, frantic and crying. He’d said “Bri, what’s wrong.” and she’d looked him dead in the face and said, “You’re a real asshole for not having ovaries.” 

He ran to get the mom’s after that, and while Hope taught her women’s things, he and Jackie had gone to Walmart to buy a metric ton of sweets.

It was the year he fell in love with other things too, old books and writing. He’d spend hours writing stories of heroes and villains, of fate and magic. He knew why he did it, but he pretended he didn’t. He was determined to be okay, even if he never went back. He’d told Bri that life was beautiful, and it was, as long as one remembered to make it so.

He was 12 when a boy called him a name for the first time, the kind of name that cuts deep and makes you want to cry. He was in gym class, they had a sub who’d had the great idea to have them play dodge ball, Patroclus was terrible and so he made sure to get out as quickly as he could. He sat on the bleachers and stared at Brett again, because he couldn’t help it. One of the other boys noticed. 

He’d walked up to Patroclus and sneered the word. It was like time slowed then, and Patroclus could feel his father’s cursed anger rear up in him. 

“What the hell did you just say?” He asked, his voice eerily calm.

The boy laughed and said it again, “ _Faggot._ ”

What happened next was beyond his control. Patroclus pulled his fist back, like he’d only done twice in his life, and swung with everything he had. The sound the boy’s tooth made when it hit the wood floor was beautiful.

But then there was a whistle, and the sub ran over. He was one of those muscly guys, all dark hair and hazel eyes; probably played football back in the day. 

Patroclus knew what would happen next. Guys like him always sided with boys like the one on the ground, toxic masculinity at its finest. 

Patroclus shook his fist because it throbbed, and glared at the teacher. If he wanted to get him in trouble, then Patroclus could handle it. He squared his shoulders, and then..

“What’s your name?” the sub asked.

“Patroclus.”

“Right,” the sub said. “Well Patroclus, first thing’s first. If you’re going to punch an asshole in the face, don’t hold your thumb in your fist. You’re lucky it didn’t break.”

The bleeding boy yelled, “What?!” and the class was dead silent. Patroclus couldn’t help it, he laughed. Hard.

“I’m gonna be real with you dude, I have to send you to the office because this is beyond my paygrade. But just to make sure I have all my facts,” the sub turned to look at the other boy. Patroclus couldn’t help the way he flushed as he looked at the sub’s butt, it was a really good one. Apparently the bro was a himbo, and wasn’t that just a plot twist; He couldn’t wait to tell Bri.

“You, toothless. What was that thing you called Patroclus here?” The sub asked, and the class laughed. The boy muttered it under his breath. 

“I’m sorry, I missed that. A little louder. _Really_ project. You were so confident before, don’t lose it now.”

“Faggot,” the boy said a little louder.

The sub tapped his square jaw, and nodded a little. “Ah, yes. Well… See the thing is, I really don’t like that word. Not only does it make you look as dumb as you are, it’s over played and hateful. But there’s something else you failed to consider,” he told the boy.

Every eye was on the sub as he squatted down to get on eye level. “Patroclus took your tooth, and he looks like he could disappear behind a pole if he turned sideways-”

Patroclus blushed, he wasn’t wrong.

“But not all gay men are thin. Take me, for example. If I was to say, react the same way our friend here did, how many teeth do you think you’d lose?”

“Y-you’re not allowed to talk to me like that,” the boy stuttered.

“Nah, probably not. But hey, I’m a sub. I guess I forgot the rules.” The teacher shrugged then stood up. “The rest of you just, don’t break anything I’ll be back.”

And with that he led Patroclus and the bleeding boy to the principal's office. The boy got suspended, and when he came back he had a new tooth three shades to light; Patroclus got a stern lecture. The sub though was let go, apparently the boy’s parents had called and he wasn’t allowed back to their school anymore. 

After that no one called him names, but he stopped having a crush on Brett. It wasn’t because he’d gotten less pretty, but it was in part due to two things. First, that Brett had pulled him aside after school that day and told him that while he was flattered, and he thought Patroclus was really smart and not bad looking for a dude, he had a girlfriend. He said they could be friends, and Patroclus decided that was good enough. 

The second reason was that after that day, he found his tastes had changed. His new obsession was dark hair and hazel eyes, for whatever reason. Bri teased him mercilessly for it.

It was at the beginning of summer, just a few months before Patroclus would turn 13 when Bri had rolled over to look at him beneath their tree. She had a peculiar glint in her eye, and Patroclus lifted a brow in question.

“So I had this idea, the other day.”

“Congratulations,” he replied dryly.

“Oh, choke on one.” She said with a roll of her eyes, and a sharp slap with the back of her hand against his chest.

“So what’s your idea Bri? If it involves knives or fire I’m out. Please don’t say it’s practicing surgery on raw meat again, mom 2 was big mad when she found the floss in our pot roast.”

Bri cackled. They’d been watching Grey’s and decided that if they were going to be doctors they needed to practice because it looked competitive. They wanted to be Meredith and Christina, and that meant being better than everyone else. 

They’d performed surgery on a pot roast, and when Hope had cut into it only to find a bunch of tooth floss they’d used in place of string, she hadn’t been pleased. “It’s not that I don’t think that was genius,” she’d said. “It’s only that you used mint and it really doesn’t go with the rub.”

Jackie had brought them home suture kits from the hospital the next day, and a ton of fruit. “You wanna be like Grey’s?” she asked. They’d looked at her with wide eyes because that show was mature and they weren’t supposed to watch it. “Oh don’t give me that look, we’ve always known. If you want to practice, do it right.” Then she passed them their kits and they spent the evening sewing bananas back together.

“No, no knives and fire.” Bri assured him and she sat up to dug through the suitcase she called a purse. With a pleased hum she pulled out a black leather journal, which she passed over without ceremony. It was _beautiful._ Thick cream pages sewn into embossed leather. On the cover was a phoenix rising from flames. “Okay, there’s a little fire on it, but it’s poetic.”

“Thanks, Bri. It’s beautiful, I honestly don’t know what I’d write in it.” He said as he carefully traced the bird.

“Moms paid for it, so thank them. Anyways, that’s my idea.”

He looked at her questioningly and waited, she had really grown into her dramatic pauses; Patroclus blamed theater.

“So, okay don’t get mad alright? Remember when you told me everything, and I asked what would happen if you ended up going back?”

Patroclus nodded, it wasn’t a conversation he was likely to forget.

“So I was thinking about that, and everything that happened before and since. And you’re always writing, and if you get to find him again, you’re going to want to tell him all about me… and like everything else, but that’s not important. So I was thinking, this could be your book, you said your shoes and things went with you the last time, even if they changed, but you’ve never tried a book. So I say we fill it with all the good and bad bits, anything you’d want him to know so you don’t forget when you get a chance to tell him.”

She smiled, and it was radiant. The idea was honestly kind of genius. If he ever got to go back he’d be able to share all the stories of his life, he loved to write anyways. He hugged her close.

“This is kind of genius Bri, where’d you get the idea?”

“Doctor Who,” she said, then affected her best English accent. “Spoilers.”

They laughed as they fished a pen from the patchwork purse, and flipped to the first page.

“I don’t know how to start,” Patroclu admitted, his pen hovering just above the page.

“Start in the storage room, and go from there. I’ll help with the parts I was there for.” She promised.

And so he did, he spent days and days filling pages with his handwriting, as small as he could make it so that he didn’t run out of room too quickly. Bri helped him, as she’d promised, even adding in commentary to the margins; _The eyeliner looked hot, but he forgot to take it off and the next morning he looked like a raccoon._ Or, _He says this happened, but what really happened was the hot drag queen talked to him and Pat panicked so hard he dropped his ice cream._

In the end he’d only filled in a third of the pages; it was funny how his life thus far didn’t take up more with how he’d lived. 

They used a whole page for pictures, of him and Bri, of him and his mom’s, of him and Henriette, and him and Ollie. There were ones from his debut on stage, and ones of him at pride. They’d included a couple of cars, and planes, things he’d tried to explain before. They did everything they could think of, and from that day on Patroclus carried the book everywhere he went, just in case.

Patroclus turned 13 that summer beneath the tree, the same as he had the year before. Bri whispered happy birthday to him, and they watched the stars. 

__________________________________________________________

**Phthia:**

Achilles turned 13 without his Therapon, and when the day was nearly over he found himself watching the stars from the palette on his floor. He wondered if Patroclus had had a good birthday, his was just before Achilles’ own. He hoped it had been better than his. 

It was not that he was neglected, quite the opposite. As a prince everyone always wanted a piece of him. He had been given gifts weighed down by expectation, promises he didn’t care to accept, and a visit from his mother.

The highlight of this day, the day he became a man, wasn’t his father pushing a sad eyed slave girl towards him as it would have been for other boys. 

It wasn’t the figs waiting by his bed, or the party they had thrown him. 

Instead, it was a moment. He had been taking time alone, as he often did, hidden beneath a cypress tree when little Automedon had found him.

He cleared his throat, and Achilles had startled. “Yes?” he asked, mentally reprimanding himself for sounding so cruel, the boy was hardly more than 9.

Automedon looked nervous as he shuffled his feet in the dirt. Achilles knew what it was to be uncomfortable, to lose your words, and so he said softly. “Is there something I could help you with, Automedon?”

The boy shook his head furiously, then changed his mind and nodded. “I, well. I made you something, for your birthday. You, you look sad…” He said quietly, not unkindly. “You have since Patroclus left and I thought maybe you could use something to cheer you up.” He pulled a pile of cloth from behind his back, and handed it to Achilles.

Achilles carefully unwrapped the fabric as the boy continued. “It is not the best, but I did try. I am better with horses but…” He shrugged as the item in cloth fell to Achilles palm.

He turned it over, and could not help his smile. Automedon had carved him a small figurine- it was a boy with messy curls and big eyes. The nose was wrong, and one of the ears was lower than the other, but it was…. 

“That is Patroclus, as best as I can remember. I was little then, but I asked around and the others told me of his features.”

“He is- Automedon,” Achilles looked up with glassy eyes. “He is perfect, thank you so much.” 

He spun his little Patroclus figurine over in his hand now, and as a star shot across the sky he wished quietly. _Bring him home to me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In gym class a bully catches Pat staring at his crush, and pat notes that he called him something cruel. It was the first time he's heard something that mean. Then when he asks the bully what the hell he said, the bully actually uses the f slur. Pat punches his dumb ass face, he loses a tooth, and the gym sub comes over to rip him a new one. He asks him what he said, and when the bleeding douche repeats it, he lays into him in Pat's defense.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the moment you've been waiting for, or.... Almost.
> 
> Update #4 of 1.29.2021
> 
> (last update today, I'll be back again tomorrow)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple things:
> 
> The Azaelia Banks song he references is '212' look it up, it's a banger throwback.
> 
> The DMV is a shorthand for locals that means D.C. Maryland Virginia, not like the place where you get your license. 
> 
> I know towards the end you may be thinking, What adult would be that chill? but please forgive me. It's for plot reasons, I did my best to make them supportive but not so much that he can't advance the plot. Bc it's fic, so just roll with it (pleaseeeee)?
> 
> As always, I love you all thank you so much for following along
> 
> -Kenz

It was one of those cold fall days the East was famous for, and Patroclus sat in his last class of the day drifting between his teacher’s voice and his own imagination. 

Halloween had come the week before and brought new experiences for Patroclus and Bri. They’d been invited to a party at Brett’s house, and though he was nervous, Patroclus went. They’d dressed in the way teenagers thought they should on Halloween; gone were the silly costumes, and in their place were outfits with ‘sexy’ in front of them. It was ridiculous, but it’s what the other kids did, and so they followed suit.

Bri had gone as a sexy witch, it seemed to mean she dressed in mostly her own clothes but exchanged her band T for a tank top and leather jacket, then wore a bunch of crystals around her neck. “Where’s your hat?” He’d asked, and she rolled her eyes. 

“That shit is offensive Pat, real witches don’t need a hat and a broom. A jar of dirt and the right intentions will get you just as far.”

He hadn’t questioned it, but he’d sent up a prayer to the gods that his sister didn’t hex his balls off when he next made her mad. 

Patroclus had, on the other hand, taken a slightly different, albeit related approach. He’d gone for the typical ‘sexy vampire’ look, complete with fake teeth he’d glued to his own with denture glue, eyeliner, and skinny jeans that felt like they’d cut off his circulation. He told people he was Damon Salvatore when they called him Edward.

It was a dancing party, and though he’d been nervous Bri had dragged him out to the floor. They’d sang every word to _Gangnam Style_ and _Call Me Maybe_ , and when the song changed again and the thrumming beat of his favorite song shook the walls of Brett’s basement; Patroclus lost himself.

His hips swayed to the rhythm, and then he felt hands on his waist. 

He froze for a moment, looking at Bri whose smile was eating her face. “Keep dancing,” came a familiar voice. _Brett,_ and Patroclus died a little inside. He found his grind again as Azaelia Banks used a word repeatedly his moms said he couldn’t say. Brett’s hands snaked lower on his hips, and Patroclus rested his head against the taller boy’s shoulder.

“What about Claire,” he said in the space between them.

“Broke up.” He said with a dazzling smile.

“Oh,” Patroclus said. He shivered when Brett turned him around, never once losing his grinding rhythm. “B-But you’re straight.”

Brett gave him a wicked grin, it reminded him of Achilles and for a minute he wanted so badly for it to be him. “I said I had a girlfriend, and that you were cute for a dude. I never said I was straight.” 

“Oh. Right. Yeah, okay.” Patroclus replied with a level of intelligence and sophistication befitting his panic.

Brett pulled him closer and rubbed against him in a way that made his eyes bulge out of his face; He could hear Bri laughing behind him.

“Yup.” Brett said, and then he kissed him.

It wasn’t fireworks like the books said, or beautiful like the movies. It was awkward, short, kinda rough because the boy hadn’t used chapstick since 2004 apparently. But it happened, and when he pulled away, he blushed. 

Patroclus didn’t know what to make of it, but it wasn’t awful? It was his first kiss, and Brett was pretty, but it was just…. _It wasn’t him,_ his traitorous mind supplied. 

The song ended and Patroclus patted Brett on his shoulder, not unlike how he patted Mr. Carter’s black lab when he passed them on a walk. “Well, thanks for that Brett, but I just remembered I have to-”

He spun on his heel, grabbed Bri by the elbow and dragged her from the house. They walked home because it was only a few blocks. And when they got through the door, his moms waved from where they were picking through Ollie’s candy.

“Hello baby gays,” Hope sang around a kit-kat.

“How was the party?” Jackie asked.

“Pat kissed a boy!” Bri screeched.

The kit-kat fell from Hope’s mouth, and Jackie froze with a fun dip right in front of her tongue. Patroclus elbowed his sister in the ribs and muttered, “bitch.” under his breath. Even wheezing, Bri looked unapologetic.

Hope recovered first. “How’d that go?”

Patroclus shrugged, his cheeks were on fire and he swore that as soon as they got upstairs, he would smother his sister. “It was, kinda like sandpaper, and also like an old person.” He admitted.

Jackie laughed herself off the couch before she said, “This is why I’m a lesbian.” 

“That’s… Well, kind of gross.” Hope said giggling. “Every girl is entitled to her secrets, so I say we just pretend that didn’t happen and you get a redo with someone who knows how to moisturize.”

Patroclus blew out a breath, then fell in beside his moms. Together the four of them ate Ollie’s whole haul, and at 3am Jackie drove them to Walmart to buy replacements.

He was in English when the final bell rang and his teacher asked him to wait a moment. Patroclus ran through everything he could think of, but all his assignments had been turned in and he hadn’t punched anyone in a year. He shuffled up to the desk, and saw Bri outside the door. He mouthed, _one sec,_ and she nodded.

“Patroclus,” his teacher said. She was a kind, middle aged woman with a picture of her cat on the desk. “I wanted to talk to you about an opportunity. You’re my strongest student, and I mean that honestly. The power in your words is something I haven’t seen in years.”

She pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to him. “Every year Phoenix Publishing hosts an essay contest for the DMV area, the prize is a $5,000 scholarship. I really think you have a shot, you’ll find the prompts on the paper. If you decide to enter, let me know- I’ll help you get it ready and sign off as your sponsor.”

Patroclus looked at the sheet, a Phoenix rising from the flame was their logo, and it seemed easy enough. He nodded to his teacher, thanked her and went to meet Bri.

“What was that about?” 

He handed her the paper and as she read it she seemed to read his mind. “Phoenix publishing, and the prompt is 5,000 words answering the question, ‘If you could ask the Fates for one gift, what would it be?’ Patroclus, PA-TRO-CLUS. This shit is in the bag, you’re gonna do it right?”

He shrugged. “Probably, I mean. What’s the worst that could happen, right?” 

The truth was he could use the money for school. Medical school was expensive, and even though Henriette had told him he had a trust, the details were fuzzy at best. He needed to take every opportunity he could to save money in case Menoetius felt like screwing him again from the grave.

Patroclus wrote the essay that weekend; As it turned out 5,000 words on Fate was a prompt meant just for him. The words flowed almost faster than he could type, and when he brought it in to his teacher that Monday, she smiled. He’d have to wait months, but it was okay, he was proud of what she would be submitting, and waiting was a particular talent of his.

Fall turned into winter, and when Christmas came again Patroclus was handed a gift from his moms. It was heavy, and he looked up to find the Phillips family watching him with wide eyes. It made him nervous and his hands shook as he slid the ribbon from the box. The lid came away to reveal green tissue paper, and when he pulled it away he nearly dropped the gift.

It’s funny what shock does to someone’s system, it can make you cry at the drop of a hat, or laugh at an inopportune moment. Today it made his heart stop entirely.

“Y-You, you mean it?” He whispered, even through his blurry eyes he could see Jackie and Hope, Ollie and Bri, always Bri, looking excited and nervous in equal measure.

“Yeah, baby.” Hope’s voice cracked.

“Never meant anything more,” Jackie said.

“Say yes, please Pat.” Bri begged.

Patroclus looked back again at the adoption form, complete except for his signature, then back to his family.

“Please.” he said, and that one word broke them. The Phillips five cried and laughed, they sang and danced, and when Henriette stopped by that night he nearly threw the paper at her. Her smile was bright and her eyes wet a she leaned down to whisper, “Congratulations Mr. Phillips.”

And it was everything.

Things moved quickly after that, Henriette was at the house a lot, and his moms took a bunch more classes. But when the day came that the Phillips family dressed in their best clothes and drove to the courthouse, it was all Patroclus could do not to break down crying.

They stood before the judge, just as they had for Bri that second month he’d been in the yellow house; and when all was said and done Patroclus left the room walking on air.

Life was a dream after that, and good things came in waves. He won the scholarship, he got another lead in the spring musical, he grew another few inches, and he was happy.

It was early summer, and the family was on a hike through the woods. The moms had decided that a trip to Shenandoah National Park was perfect bonding; Bri and him didn’t much agree. But they were a family and it was worth it.

He packed his bag with snacks, the camera he shared with Bri, and his journal- always that.

They were stopped halfway up the mountain trail, eating sandwiches and laughing while they sat on a log when Ollie took off running into the forest. He’d only gone a few feet when he stood up with a triumphant smile. “Treasure!” He shouted and held aloft a small metal disk.

“What’d you find sweetheart?” Hope asked.

Jackie said something but Patroclus’ ears were ringing and he felt sick. The sandwich fell from his hands as he watched Ollie dust off his treasure on his shirt. He handed it to Jackie who turned it over and over, Patroclus watched with unblinking eyes.

“Pat, you dropped your food.” Bri said, then... 

“Very cool munchkin, it looks like old money. I’ve never seen something like it before.” Jackie said as she handed it back to her youngest son.

Ollie walked over with the coin on his little palm, and Patroclus stopped breathing entirely.

“P-Pat, is… is that?”

He could only nod.

“Oh, gods.” Bri said, it sounded wet. He reached blindly for her hand, and they held each other tight as Ollie came to a stop.

“Look! It’s a money,” he said proudly.

“Drachma.” Patroclus croaked.

“What was that?” Hope asked.

“This can’t happen, not now. Not yet.” Bri was crying, and Patroclus wasn't surprised to find he was too.

Their moms stood up and approached the children with varying looks of concern. 

“T-Turn it over, Ollie.” Patroclus whispered, and his brother did. Three women stared back at him with small smirks, and Patroclus emptied his stomach on the forest floor.

“Jesus, Pat!” Jackie said. “What’s wrong with you two? Are you okay?”

The teens nodded though the tears hadn’t stopped.

“Tell us what’s going on, let us help.” Hope pleaded.

Patroclus smiled a bitter smile, and looked first at the coin then to his moms. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He said quietly.

“I believed I was straight for 18 years,” Jackie tried to joke. “Try me.”

Patroclus turned to Bri who looked as if her heart was breaking. She pulled him in tight, it was a promise because they were best friends, and she knew he hadn’t changed his mind. 

She asked him sometimes, when she found him writing stories in his journal, and he always responded the same. “I love you Bri,” he’d say. It wasn’t a yes, it wasn’t a no. It was, what it was.

He said it again into her curls, and she said it back.

“Okay, you’re scaring us.” Hope said and he watched as his moms reached blindly for each other. “We promise to listen, okay? We promise to try.”

Patroclus took a deep breath, and looked at his mom’s. “When I was 5, my mother died……”

And on, 

and on, 

and on he went.

No one spoke, not even Ollie.

The silence continued a very long time when he’d finished, save for the sounds of birds singing high in the trees. Instead of talking Jackie turned back to grab a water bottle from her pack, and pass it to Patroclus with a sad smile.

“I’m not crazy.” He told them when he’d drank half its contents.

“Sweetheart, w-we know.” Hope said.

“I love you all so much,” Patroclus said, and they nodded. “You don’t believe me though, do you?”

Jackie and hope looked at each other, then to Bri. Bri who they’d raised longer, Bri who they could read just a little bit easier. Bri nodded her head solemnly, and they turned back to him.

“I don’t think we know what to believe, sweetheart.”

“It’s not that we think you’re lying it’s just that- you can see how this sounds right? Of course you can,” Jackie shook her head. “I’m an asshole.”

“Swear jar,” everyone said at the same time, then laughed a sad laugh.

“What I mean is, that if you’re telling the truth, and I believe you are, even if that makes me sound just as crazy. I-it means you’re leaving, or you want to, because that’s why Bri looks that way, isn’t it?”

“I…” He didn’t know how to finish.

“How long. If this is real and what you said is true. If you touch that drachma and it sucks you back in time, how long do we lose you for?” Hope asked him.

Patroclus laughed hysterically then, the fact that they were asking this, the fact that they were willing to play along with this tale of magic and time. “I don’t know.” he said. 

“It’s been almost 4 years since I’ve seen it, but I don’t know. I… I don’t want to leave you, I love you, but I can’t explain it. It’s like I _have_ to go, I have to try. And even if it’s only a few minutes I have to tell him thank you, tell him I’m sorry, tell him I love him- he’s my Therapon, and I-” Patroclus just broke.

And then it was arms, warm and safe.

Deep breaths.

It was calming sounds and reassurances.

It was this, and this; everything and nothing all at once.

The finally broke apart, none of them knowing quite what to say next, when Hope gasped; her eyes were wide as saucers. “His name is Achilles, Achilles of Phthia. As in the greatest of the Greeks?” 

Patroclus nodded.

And then Hope said something he hadn’t planned on. Something so close to home, that he’d steadfastly avoided it his whole life. She opened her mouth and all the fear he’d held in his heart, that he refused to look at further, was brought to the surface.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think you should go back. And not just because we’d miss you.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Baby, because… because he dies. In the war. He dies at Troy- and it’s… It’s _awful._ ”

“He dies.” Patroclus flatly, and both his mom’s looked so heart broken for him as they nodded. 

If that was the case, it meant he was dead now, in Patroclus’ time. He didn’t become a god, because gods couldn’t die, that much Achilles had told him. It was something too confusing to think about, too monumental, too horrid; and something he refused to accept. If the drachma and the three women could take him back, then Achilles was still alive, it had to be that way.

“When.” Patroclus demanded, his voice was loud and Bri gripped his arm tight, whether in support or warning, he wasn’t sure. “Damn it moms! When does he die? Do you know?”

“The end bit, I believe. The war lasted a decade and it’s been so long since I read Homer, but it’s in the last bit.” Jackie said.

The end. 10 years, and he dies at the end. But If Patroclus knew that, he could change it, he could stop him from fighting or from dying or something. He had to, it was the only option that didn’t make him want to die. He felt like he was breaking as he stood from the log on which he sat. 

He slipped his hand into his pack as he kissed Bri on the head.

He moved slowly, so they wouldn’t see him wrap his hands around the black journal.

“I love you,” he whispered, only for her; And she looked up at him. Her eyes were huge and sad, tears flowing freely down her sun kissed cheeks. 

Briseis held up her scarred palm, and he placed his against it.

“Always,” she whispered for just him to hear.

Patroclus nodded once, then turned to his moms.

“I’m sorry, for all of this. I love you and I k-know I sound like a total queen. I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“It’s okay sweetheart, I’m sorry you didn’t know” Hope smiled a weak smile.

“We love you kiddo, and we can find out whatever you need to know about your hero. I promise.” Jackie told him.

Patroclus walked up to his moms like one would walk to the gallows. Every step was a battle, every step his mind was begging him to stay.

He hugged them each in turn, squeezing a little tighter than normal.

Then he painted a weak smile on his face as he took a step towards his brother.

“I love you all, more than you could ever know. I hope you can forgive me-”

He stepped back again, and laid a kiss on Ollie’s little head. Hope and Jackie stared at him with wide eyes.

“I’ll see you again, okay? I promise.” Patroclus said, and slammed his hand down over the drachma on his brother’s palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT UP: 
> 
> A split chapter between Bri and Achilles' PoVs. We'll see Bri and the Phillips family after Pat leaves, and Achilles right before he comes back <3


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Update #1 on 1.30.2021
> 
> TW: Description of a panic attack, and grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning my favorite humans, I'm here with the first update of the day.
> 
> This chapter is a little different, You'll get your first taste of Bri's POV and then Achilles'. Patroclus' POV will be back next chapter, I promise.
> 
> I wanted to take a moment to thank y'all yet again. The support for this fic, the comments and questions, the way y'all analyze the characters and what you see in them is just.... I can't find enough words to thank you. I love each morning waking up before I write and seeing your opinions, getting yelled at in the comments, and hearing your theories. 
> 
> We are about halfway through I'd say. There will be some chapters as usual that span years and others that cover just a moment. This will be when the fic really starts moving up in rating because, well.. As much as this is cannon divergence, there are still aspects of cannon. I'll be sure to tag anything that I think should be, i.e. gore/ trauma/ smut.
> 
> I love you all so very much <3
> 
> -Kenz
> 
> (P.S. when this is done I'm going back through to edit it bc I have caught some grammar issues when I was reviewing last night, but then was to tired to fix them, so I'm sorry lol)

**Shenandoah National Park: Briseis**

She knew he was going to try and leave, the moment she saw the coin and the sandwich on the ground, she knew. 

What Briseis didn’t expect was that it would work. Of course she’d always believed Pat, he was her best friend, her brother. The day he’d confessed, there was something about him- the way he told the story, it was a kind of conviction, of awe; Pain you couldn’t fake. He’d told her even though he swore she’d think he was crazy, even though he thought she’d tell their moms and send him back; he did it anyway.

And yet, through it all there was a piece of her that didn’t believe only because she’d never seen. It was a small quiet part, the source of her hope that maybe if he made it all up it meant she wouldn’t lose her best friend; a selfish part she ignored as best she could.

But then there was Pat grabbing his book, the apology in his eyes; the heartbreak and hope dueling it out on his face.

There was the way he held moms; the way he smiled his pretend smile.

Briseis felt like she couldn’t breath as she waited for what would come, but she couldn’t ruin it. And so she said nothing from the log, only watched in horror, and pride, as he kissed Ollie’s head and slammed his hand down.

And then…

Nothing could have prepared her for the way it happened. Briseis didn’t blink, she was sure. Patroclus was there one moment, and then he was just _gone._ There was no sound, no bright light from the heavens, no unnatural wind; no Patroclus. 

Just there; then not.

She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or her heart was filled with such shock she couldn’t cope. But, in the absence of ceremony, as she stared at the spot where her person had been, Briseis snorted. It was loud. She sounded like a little piglet; It was one of those snorts that you’re glad only happens in front of your family because they’ve already seen you do the embarrassing shit.

It was followed by a giggle, and then she laughed so hard she couldn’t breath. Her sides hurt, and her eyes wouldn’t stop crying. As Briseis slid from the log onto her knees, eyes glued to the spot, laughing like a maniac, the Phillips family melted down around her.

Briseis laughed and cried as Hope screamed, “No!”

She laughed and cried as Jackie’s knees hit the ground and she started pulling at the earth like she’d find her son there somewhere.

She laughed and cried as Ollie asked where Pat had gone, and “was it a trick?”

Briseis laughed…

And cried…

Until her breaths came in all at once and the forest floor swam. Until the trees turned into a swirling vortex of green and her ears rang. Until she thought she was dying… and still she couldn’t stop.

And then it was Jackie’s shaking hands pulling her from the ground where she’d lost herself, and putting her head between her legs.

It was Ollie crying because he didn’t understand, and Hope holding him in her lap where she sat next to Bri, rubbing soothing circles across her back.

It was a stranger stopping before the Phillips, decked out in climbing gear. His blonde hair tied in a knot on his head like an absolute tool, as he asked, “Is someone hurt?”

Bri looked deep into his stupid eyes, and said. “Fuck. Off.”

No one called ‘swear jar’. 

No one said anything at all.

The man watched her a second longer, and Bri hated him for it. She didn’t want anyone to see her pain- it was only something she allowed four people; And he wasn’t one. She glared and he looked at her with pity, before nodding and continuing along the path.

Time passed where they sat on the ground, peppered only with quite sounds of grief. And then Jackie stood, her face was as red as the rest of them. She reached out a hand to her wife, and Hope followed suit. Together they reached for Bri, and when she found her weak legs, she pulled Ollie up behind her.

They grabbed their packs, and when they all stopped to look at Pat’s Bri said, “I’ve got it.”

Hand in hand, their hearts left shattered behind them on the mountain, the Phillips 4 walked back to their car.

It was a long silent drive home, no one turned on music, no one laughed. It was like the world had gone all grey and no one knew what to do with that.

The yellow house seemed too big when they stepped back through the door, and Briseis thought; _It’s funny, how one person can fill something so much you don’t notice until they leave._

She took a shower, watching in numb disdain as the brown puddle at her feet swirled and swirled until it was clear; until she was free of the remnants from the mountain. And then Briseis got out, she toweled off and walked bare into Pat’s room.

She pulled his giant sweatshirt from the closet, and his favorite plaid pants. Her hands shook as she slid them on.

And then she crawled beneath the cream sheets in the green room, and stared at their tree through the window. Her tears tracked silently down her face, puddling in her ears and hair, but she made no move to wipe them away.

There was a hole in her stomach; her chest. It was like someone had come and scooped out her insides entirely. It _ached,_ and she couldn't stop shivering.

The door to the green room opened, and light steps patted across the hardwood floor. She glanced away from the window to find Ollie. In his hands he held his special blanket, and he looked at her helplessly. Briseis lifted the comforter without a word, and her baby brother slid in beside her. She wrapped her arms around him and did her best to keep breathing.

The door to the green opened again, and this time it was not one set of feet, but two. No one said anything.

Briseis and Ollie each lifted an edge without question, and the bed dipped again. Their moms scooted in close and wrapped their arms tight.

The night Patroclus Phillips disappeared with a magic coin, his family curled up in the green room, and prayed silently to their own gods for an answer.

_____________________________________________________

**Phthia: Achilles**

_It is time,_ his mother’s voice replayed over, and over in his head.

Achilles grabbed his pack and slid his tiny figurine into the bottom, he packed what he thought he would need for his journey- though it wasn’t much.

It was a few chitons, a few furs. It was extra ribbon he’d pilfered from the seamstress just in case, his lyre; That was all. Achilles hitched the pack over his shoulder, and left the palace as the sun broke the horizon.

It was a long journey to make alone, but it was the first step on his hero’s adventure. He’d be leaving to train with Chiron, the centaur who had trained the _greats_ of their world. 

He left the palace behind, and put one bare foot in front of the other.

As he walked he wondered what would happen next. This was not a short trip, he would be gone many years. What would happen if the Gods brought back his Therapon? Would he find Achilles?

He had left a note with Automedon, should the boy ever see Patroclus wandering the grounds. It told Patroclus of where he had gone, but the idea had seemed far fetched even now. The young boy had tucked it safely beneath his pillow and promised he would do as the prince had asked. And that was that; his hope lay with a small boy, and chance; but the truth was it had been years, and Achilles’ belief hung on by a thread.

Though he smiled each day, though he laughed when he could, he had lived the last four years as a ghost- half himself. 

It was in the way he would walk to the docks to watch the ships come in, and just for a moment he would see brown curls facing the water below. Achilles would run as fast as he could, but it was never enough. The ghost of the boy with his rich olive skin and messy curls would be gone by the time he made it.

It was a nightmare, one that haunted him even when his eyes were open.

His mother told him that the boy was gone, and that he needed to forget. She said he had never been worthy of Achilles, that he was to be his death; that he was _lucky_ she did as she had. He should be grateful.

Achilles would stare blankly at her as these rants continued, and when it was clear she had gone through each of her arguments he would say, “Will that be all mother?”

He walked for hours across the hot clay earth, until he came upon the start of the forest. From there it would be miles of wilderness, and a hike up the mountain, where Thetis assured him Chiron would be waiting. 

This far from the ever watchful eyes of the palace, Achilles took a deep breath. There was a particular freedom in no longer having to perform, to play the happy prince. His shoulders slumped and his feet dragged. He assumed his mother was watching him now, as she always did, and that she was disappointed; The thought made him glad. He loved his mother, and hated her in equal measure; the dichotomy of such feelings were exhausting.

Achilles hopped over a bubbling stream, then turned back to reach his hands in for a drink. It was hot today, as most summers were, even beneath the shade of the trees. He reached beneath the cool surface a second time when he heard it. The snap of a branch.

Achilles froze; he listened.

There was another snap just a little closer, it seemed he was no longer alone. As slowly and quietly as he could, he slid his pack from his shoulders, leaving it just on the edge of the water; Bait. Then he retreated into the cover of the forest to wait.

It was only minutes, and then he saw it, the peculiar creature. It wore a strange chiton of many colors, and held in its hands a leather thome. It had messy curls atop its head, they tugged Achilles’ heart. And though it’s back was to Achilles, he could see it was tall.

He walked as a man would walk, but there was something about him. And then he reached for Achilles pack, and the prince decided he’d seen enough.

He sprung from the trees on silent feet, and ran. The creature let out a gasp only a second before Achilles landed on its back. 

They fell as one; Achilles on the thief’s back, and the thief face first in the rich earth. He bucked but Achilles kept his seat, it was unlikely such a thing could throw him- he had spent time breaking stallions in the spring.

When the thieving creature stilled, Achilles slid his knees from it’s back and sat down entirely. “What business do you have stealing from a prince?” He asked, his voice was lower now, and he prayed he sounded intimidating. He was not worried that this gangly thing could beat him, rather that he would look foolish for not facing him like a man would; weapon in hand.

The body below him stopped wiggling; it was as if he’d looked upon Medusa with how quickly he turned to stone. There was a moment, where the only sounds were of Achilles’ harsh breaths, and the birds high overhead.

And then it moved.

It made a little sound as it did, something strange- like a snort, maybe a chuckle. It irritated him. Slowly the thief brought it’s left arm above it’s head without a word. 

Achilles looked down, and what he saw stole the breath from his lungs. 

It was a bracelet of ribbon, tied in messy knots against Olive skin.

“P-Patroclus?” he croaked, Achilles prayed it would be so.

_“Fig head.”_


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> REUNION BABY.
> 
> Also so much gay panic.
> 
> Update #2 of 1.30.2021

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we're back in Greece my friends!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, it's ridiculous bc teenage boys are nonsense. 
> 
> This will be my final update today (I believe). I need to get some things done around the house and like take a break for a bit. That being said, If I'm bored later I may be back.
> 
> As always thanks for taking the time to read, I hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> -Kenz

Achilles scrambled from his back, and Patroclus took a deep breath where he lay face down in the dirt. _This is it,_ he told himself. He wished he looked better, hadn’t been hiking all day, had more time to prepare but it was what it was. He rolled over slowly onto his back, and had to squint. The sun was shining high above him, and the trees swayed in the wind. They left little spots in his eyes. 

And then there was a shadow staring down at him; and in the greys he found long gold hair, and a straight nose. Achilles came into focus like a dream. His jaw was sharper than it had been, and his cheekbones were high and lovely. Pink lips were parted in shock, and his beautiful green eyes; Eyes that had been Patroclus’ favorite color since the day he first saw them behind a rock, were glowing. 

Patroclus smiled a goofy smile, “Hey.”

Achilles stared at him unblinking, and slowly lifted a golden hand from just out of view. Patroclus dropped his eyes, and his heart beat faster as he looked at the colorful knots weaved around his Therapon’s wrist. 

Achilles brought his hand slowly to Patroclus’ face, and his fingers shook where they hovered just a breath above skin. Patroclus was drowning, lost in the enormity of this feeling; _home,_ he was home. 

Achilles touched a single finger to Patroclus’ brow, then gasped. He fell back onto his ass and Patroclus sat up to give him an odd look.

“Y-You are not a dream.” Achilles said.

“You dream about me?” Patroclus fired back. Achilles ducked his head a moment, but no one could miss the rose blush flowering across his cheeks; it made Patroclus smile even bigger.

“I- Gods, Patroclus. How are you here? How did you find me? Did Automedon find you?” Achilles was rambling, his questions firing at such a quick pace Patroclus could only wait until he was finished.

When the prince stopped to take a breath, Patroclus stood and offered him a hand; Achilles looked at it for a moment, then let himself be hauled to his feet. Patroclus dusted off his chiton, then bent again to retrieve the journal- he was still shocked it had worked. _Thank you Bri,_ he thought.

Achilles scanned him head to toe, then back again. His face was quizzical as he took in the chiton; Patroclus couldn’t blame him. The first two times he’d travelled he’d been in a white shirt, as it slid down his thighs to become something new, it remained the same color. Which meant, apparently, that when one chose to wear their rainbow shirt from pride, your chiton ended up looking like a tye dye project.

He laughed and blushed a bit, suddenly nervous. Achilles had grown, of course he had. But where there had been the beautiful boy of his dreams, was now a man. He was tall, taller than Patroclus by at least 4 inches, and oh so bronze. Freckles danced constellations across his shoulders and the bridge of his straight nose. His blonde hair hung in loose waves down to his collar bones, and perfectly framed his square jaw. He was all muscle, as wiry as it was, and his legs were covered in a fine layer of golden hair. 

He was.... Patroclus gulped. _Gay panic is timeless,_ Bri taunted hin his head. 

Those emerald eyes found his once more, and Achilles smiled. It was pink lips that looked like they’d taste like strawberries and white teeth that shined bright in the sun. If ever he’d doubted his Therapon was blessed by the gods, the man standing before him in cream linen was all the proof he required.

“You never answered me, Patroclus.”

“I-I’m sorry. Words, you said. _What?_ ” Patroclus squeezed his eyes shut and prayed he’d die as his voice cracked on the final word; hitting an octave so high he swore it could have broken glass. 

“How did you find me?” Achilles asked again, his grin was sinful but his voice was kind.

“Uhm,” Patroclus said intelligently. This was going oh so well; as much as he missed Bri like a lung he was glad she wasn’t here for this debacle, he’d never hear the end of it. “Basically the moms took us on a hike, and then Ollie found the drachma and I dropped my sandwich. Bri was crying and then I had to explain everything even though I’m about 62% sure mom 1 thought I was having a stroke for a while. And then mom 2 said-” 

He stopped dead. Left the sentence hanging in the air. How the hell was he supposed to explain why he’d made his choice? How do you tell someone you love so much that they will die? 

Achilles’ brows drew together, “Said what?”

Patroclus Phillips decided in that moment that he’d never tell Achilles what was to come, because he refused to let it be so. He was here for a reason, to change history- to save the boy who’d held his heart in gold palms since he was five. It would be fine, because he would make sure of it. And so Patroclus painted a smile he usually saved for the stage on his face, and lied. “That she’d miss me, but that she understood.”

Achilles watched him for a moment longer, then shrugged. “Well, if that is the case…” He launched himself at Patroclus.

He smelled of pomegranate and sandalwood, of salt and sea; of hope. Patroclus breathed deeply as he snaked his arms around the prince's strong torso. Achilles laid his cheek across the top of his curls and muttered, “I thought I had lost you. I am so sorry I was not fast enough.”

Patroclus shook his head and squeezed the blonde tighter. His voice was muffled by Achilles’ chest, “No. No, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have run, I didn’t mean to leave. I’m so sorry.”

Achilles ran a hand over the back of his head, and then as if a switch was flipped both boys realized how close they’d become. They stepped back awkwardly sniffing, and wiping at their noses and eyes like men; they cleared their throats in turn, then looked up at one another and laughed.

When they stopped, Achilles pointed at the book in Patroclus’ hands and asked, “What is that?”

Patroclus smiled, “A surprise.”

Achilles nodded and bent to retrieve his pack, reaching a hand back for the book. When it was safely stored, he swung it over his shoulder as though it weighed nothing, then he looked at Patroclus with that wicked grin. “Coming?” 

Patroclus nodded; he’d follow Achilles anywhere. Achilles led them back into the forest, and they traded secret glances from the corner of their eyes as they walked. They were close enough that sometimes their knuckles would brush.

“Where’re we going?” Patroclus finally asked.

“The time has come for me to begin my training with Chiron,” Achilles replied.

“Oh, cool. And Chiron is…?”

“A teacher of great men, the son of Cronus. He is to teach me all that he knows so that I will be ready when the Gods call upon me to fulfill my destiny.”

Patroclus stomach swooped, _destiny._ If he had any say there would be no destiny, Achilles would live a long happy life, they would get really old and wrinkly, then go out notebook style. But he didn’t say that, instead he simply said. “Sounds dope. Can’t wait.”

Achilles shot him another look, and Patroclus chuckled. “It’s like cool, or good.”

“Ahh,” Achilles said with a serious nod. 

They walked for another half an hour, and Patroclus grumbled on and off. How was it fair that he’d gone on a ridiculous hike already this morning, left his family, cried until he thought he’d break, travelled through time, and _still_ had to walk more? It wasn’t fair. “So homophobic.” He growled as he tripped over yet another rock.

“What?”

Patroclus threw his hands into the air, waving them wildly. He was hot and sweaty, and so hungry he swore he was ready to chew off his own hand. “This! This is some kind of bull shit, and frankly I think it qualifies as a hate crime.” 

“What is the crime?” Achilles asked. He looked amused by Patroclus’ outburst but also concerned, as though the thought of any crime perpetrated on his Therapon would be swiftly dealt with. It was sweet, and it cut through Patroclus’ ire.

“Walking.” He smiled.

“....Walking is a crime...”

“Today it is, yes. Ask me again tomorrow and we’ll see if it changes.”

Achilles hummed in agreement, then turned. He lifted a single bare foot to take a step, when a noise came from just beyond the trees on the right. From one blink to the next he’d pulled a small knife from somewhere and had Patroclus pushed behind his back. 

_”Oh.”_ Patroclus said, because as much as he was sure he should be fearing for his life, he found he couldn’t look away from the strong lines of Achilles’ back. _Get it together._

A large branch broke and that was enough to have Patroclus standing straighter to peer past the prince. “Are we going to die?” He whispered.

Achilles shook his head and lowered the knife with a smile, “No.”

“Oh, well that’s good.” Patroclus stepped beside the prince and together they watched as the top half of a man emerged from the shadows. As he moved closer Patroclus felt his jaw hit the ground, because the man was not a man at all but a centaur. “Fucking huge centaur.” He said.

The centaur cocked his head curiously to the side, and Patroclus’ eyes tripled their size. He’d said that out loud, and now the centaur was going to carry him off like Ubridge and murder him in the woods. Which was just… great.

“You are late, Pelides.” The centaur said.

Patroclus turned his head slowly to look at his friend, who replied with a charming smile and a nod, “I am truly sorry, Sir. I stumbled upon my Therapon and time got the best of us.”

The Centaur looked back at Patroclus, who in all his panic just bowed because it seemed like his best option. “Do stand up, world walker. There is a storm coming and we do not have time to waste unless you enjoy sleeping in the rain?”

Patroclus stood and shook his head, “I’m sorry. I- _World walker_?”

“I may spend my life on the mountain, but I still hear things. You have come to our world twice before, and as you are back once again it seems the Fates are back to their games.”

“Huh.” Patroclus said.

“I will carry you both up the mountain,” Chiron told them. “It is not something I offer lightly, so do not think to make a habit of it.”

The boys nodded and shot each other a look as the centaur got down on his knees. Achilles mounted his back first, which was a good thing, because Patroclus had ridden exactly 0 horses in his lifetime; unless you counted the mean pony that bit him at a fair when he was 4.

The prince reached out a hand for him with a smile, and Patroclus took a steadying breath. Just a little ride, it’ll be fine. He prayed his hormones wouldn’t make his body act foolish, and he grabbed the proffered hand to pull himself up.

“You will want to hold tight, young walker. This will not be an easy ride. Do not squeeze me with your legs, and please do let me know if you plan to fall.” Chiron said as he stood.

“Holy shit,” Patroclus said. They were so high in the air, he was afraid to look down. Achilles reached behind him to pull Patroclus’ arms around his waist. The action brought his front tightly to the Princes back, and he knew his cheeks were burning.

Achilles grinned over his shoulder, winked because he was an asshole, then said “Dope.” And turned back to hold Chiron’s middle.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did someone order some more gay panic with a side of Chiron wisdom?
> 
> Oh, good.
> 
> Update #3 1.30.2021

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know I said I wasn't going to write more today but it was a lie. Obviously.
> 
> As far as this chapter goes, I had originally planned on doing it differently, but as I wrote it I had three thoughts:
> 
> 1\. It needed a bit more gay panic, because let's be real  
> 2\. Patroclus needed to ask the hard questions  
> 3\. Chiron always feels like he knows more than he says, i.e. the whole bit with the spear and the goodbye in TSoA. So I thought, what is a way I could incorporate his cryptic otherness in this but still have it benefit my characters? The scene between him and Patroclus had originally been set to take place later but with how the rest of it played out, I felt the need to include it here instead.
> 
> It's a bit different than the others, but I hope you like it anyways.
> 
> So here you go, night one in *The Cave*
> 
> -Kenz
> 
> PS for those who were wondering, in case I failed to put it in the last a/n Achilles is the oldest in this fic bc he is, idk. So he is a fresh af 14 (freshman in HS for America) and Pat is 13 almost 14 right now (so like he just finished his 8th grade year). Which in America means he's had the basics of like sex ed, and idk how it is other places but 13/14 yo boys from my experience are like hormonal disasters, and everything is about that. They're run by their Id so I'm writing the boys as such, in the comedic moments.

Chiron stooped down at the mouth of a large cave. While Achilles dismounted like he did all things, irritatingly suave, Patroclus all but fell off the centaur’s back. His thighs ached, and his skin was red and burning. It caused him to walk, not unlike a duck, after the others.

Chiron led them inside just as the first drops of rain fell against their cheeks. When he stepped inside Patroclus was floored. The entire inside of the cave was made of Rose Quartz, it was like a cotton candy wonderland. Bri’s most recent obsession was spiritualism and crystals; Patroclus wished so badly she was here, that he could have doubled over with the pain of it. He tried his best to hide the gutter all reaction, but Achilles was staring at him with a look that told him he’d failed.

Chiron moved deeper into the domed room, but Achilles made his way to Patroclus’ side. With a nudge of his arm against Patroclus’ he asked, “You are not okay, are you?”

Patroclus looked up to him. His jaw flapped open and closed, and in the familiar absence of words, he simply shook his head.

Achilles blinked slowly, and gave an understanding nod. “I am here, when you are ready.” And then he walked deeper into the room, touching things he found lightly as he studied his new surroundings.

Chiron gestured to a palette on the ground and looked between the boys, “As I expected only one of you…” 

Patroclus was startled from his melancholy, he turned to take in the bed, then slowly lifted his eyes to Achilles. The prince was staring at him as if he’d grown a second head, and Patroclus felt his mouth go dry. _Only one bed, because of course there is,_ he thought. He looked again at the packed earth that made up the floor and kicked it with his shoe. 

“How long will we be here again?” He asked the ground.

“I expect it to be at least a year,” the centaur replied, there was no hiding the mirth in his voice. It was like he knew exactly what Patroclus was thinking. 

One year. 365 days. Seasons of Love played in his mind as he came to terms with that. That was a long time to sleep on dirt; but would it be so bad if he did? Patroclus looked up slowly. “Right, right, right. Cool, that’s, that’s super cool. The cooliest. It’s- I’ma just-” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder, then turned on his heel and exited the cave on quick feet.

The storm raged, and though icy drops fell in torrents it did nothing to calm the heat beneath his skin. He stomped out to the tree line where he began pacing back and forth like a lunatic. “This is Karma.” he growled beneath his breath and brought his hands up to squeeze at his temples.

“Karma, has to be. You read one to many fics of this exact stupid scenario and then next thing you know some asshole god is like _Hey Patroclus, you know what would be fun?_ ”

His feet were sliding in the mud, and his chiton stuck to his body like an uncomfortable second skin. He’d most likely regret this just as soon as he returned, it was his only item of clothing, but he couldn’t go back inside. The weird feeling in his stomach was still there and his cheeks were still hot. “Not yet. Nope-”

“Patroclus!” Achilles shouted from the mouth of the cave. Patroclus whipped his head up to look at his Therapon.... His Therapon in a white chiton.

“No.” he whispered to any god that would listen. “No Plea-”

Achilles stepped out into the flood. Patroclus closed his eyes and sighed. 

And then there were hands on his shoulders, and he cracked his eyes open. Achilles’ lashes clung together like little gold stars, and his hair hung limply. There was a bead of water trailing slowly down the slope of his perfect nose. “Patroclus, what is wrong?”

“Hmm? Nothing. I’m great, aren’t you great? Wonderful. You should head back inside, I’ll be there just as soon as I-” _Figure out how to be straight for five fucking minutes_. “Pee.”

Achilles gave him an odd look, then his eyes slid lower. He took in Patroclus’ sopping wet form, and when he looked back up there was a slight color beneath the skin of his cheeks. “Of course, my apologies.” He said stoically, then turned around and ran back to the cave. 

Patroclus steadfastly did _not_ watch him as he left. 

This was a fucking disaster, the entire thing. He wished Bri was here; or his moms. They’d know what to do, how to handle this stupid feeling that made his stomach flip everytime his Therapon looked at him. If they were here they’d know how he could stop what he came to stop; how he could keep that boy in the cave breathing. If they were here, his family, they’d hold him close and tell him he was loved; and maybe it wouldn’t feel like this…

It was the curse of Phthia; in order for him to travel to a world of dreams, he first had to break his heart. 

Over, and over, and over again. 

If he was sent back again, what would be the next price he’d pay? How much more would they ask of him?

Each time he put himself back together Fate took and took; and Patroclus couldn’t breathe. He slid down against the nearest tree, and as his tears mingled with the rain that soaked him through to the bone, he let himself truly grieve.

He was lost, and his mind swam with questions…

What were they all doing, back home? How had they handled his disappearance? It wasn’t like they could call the cops, who would believe them? He wondered how angry they were with him, and if Bri had stopped crying yet. 

He wondered if Ollie understood. 

He was shaking when Chiron found him. The centaur was drenched where he knelt down before Patroclus; it made him feel awful. If he wasn’t such a disaster, this teacher of heros, this man who was kind enough to take him in wouldn’t be covered in mud. He wanted to apologize, but Chiron simply shook his head.

“There has never been one like you, Patroclus. Most look to you and they see a hero’s comrade; but that is not true, I think.”

Chiron smiled sadly, before he continued. “Though your heart breaks for those you have left, know that in every hero’s journey there comes a moment. A test of will, when he must decide whether or not he will be broken. 

You are the boy who walks worlds, Patroclus- and you would not have been chosen for this test if you were incapable.”

“I-I don’t know what I’m doing.” Patroclus choked out. 

“Maybe so,” Chiron replied. “But you are still here. So tell me, is this sacrifice what will break you? Or will you choose to find strength in your grief?”

Patroclus turned the question over, and over in his head under Chiron’s watchful gaze. His heart was heavy, but when he looked inward he could feel it; Hope. 

Like a Phoenix rising from the ashes. The choice he’d made was his alone, and though it hurt far more than he could have prepared for, he knew he would choose it again. 

There was a chance here, to save his heart, to help his golden prince win godhood. Maybe, when he was done, he could find a way to return to his family for a while, and everything would be okay. 

Patroclus took a deep breath, and lifted his chin. _This will not break me._ He repeated it like a mantra. 

Chiron gave him an approving look, then stood. He reached one large hand out for Patroclus, and hauled the smaller boy to his feet. 

The two said nothing more, as they made their way back towards the cave. 

Achilles had lent him a dry chiton, and Chiron had fed them a hearty stew. He’d told them about his plans for their training, and when the hour grew late and Patroclus could barely hold his eyes open, the two boys made their way to the palette. 

He was too tired for awkwardness he’d felt earlier; and though they clung to their halves of the bed, leaving a healthy distance between their shoulders, Patroclus found that his concerns had fallen away.

Tomorrow may be different, but for now he was full, he was warm, and he was finally with his prince once more.

With the last of his energy, he rolled onto his shoulder, only to find Achilles already watching him. Patroclus smiled, and the look was soft. 

“Goodnight, Achilles.” He whispered across the nomans land between them.

“Goodnight, Patroclus.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eh, it's not my best but have some fluff and first day on the mountain adventures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooooooo!
> 
> so sorry for the delay, I just needed a little break to read and get life in order a bit. I may be posting slower this week, my boss is 45768 months preg, and I'm on call for the birth to go watch the other kiddos. Anywayssss...
> 
> Thank y'all so much for the love this is getting, I honestly can't express what it means to me. <3 I am grateful for each and everyone of you giving this a shot!
> 
> This chapter today isn't my strongest, but it's light hearted. I'm pulling from cannon a bit more with some of the adventures here/ the structure of how they spent their first day. As we move through their time with Chiron it will be cannon compliant but I'm totally going to make shit up to fill their days and build the plot. 
> 
> Anyways, this is my first post of the night. I'm going to go ahead and keep writing so I'm thinking another chap will come before I fall asleep <3
> 
> -Kenz
> 
> P.S. see end notes for a random over share of my life related to a topic in this chapter.

Patroclus woke slowly. He stretched his hands high above his head and cracked his eyes. His body felt like lead, and he had one of those stuffy headaches that come after you’ve emptied your emotional reserves; while it had been cathartic, it still packed a punch. He looked to the other side of the palette and was un-surprised to see Achilles missing. 

He hauled himself from the pile of furs and took in the cave. In the morning light that came through the mouth, the quartz around him was fantastic. The walls sparkled where the sun reflected off jutting crystal formations, and as he took in the world Chiron had made for himself, he couldn’t help but to be calm. 

He made his way out to the clearing in search of the others, and as his feet moved from packed dirt to dewy grass he hoisted his arm across his brow. It was bright, this high up even the trees didn’t provide relief. He squinted, eyes tracing the tree line until he found a head of tousled blonde hair.

Achilles was sitting before a small fire, turning something over and over again. Patroclus flopped next to him, and mumbled “‘morning.”

“Is that what you call it in D.C.? Funny, here on Pelion we call it afternoon.” Achilles smiled, and Patroclus shoved him a little.

“Oh, shut up,” Patroclus laughed. 

Chiron emerged from the treeline, and raised his brows at Patroclus. “Nice of you to join us.” 

Patroclus ducked his head; heat crept its way across his cheeks. He hadn’t meant to keep his teacher waiting, and he hoped Chiron wouldn’t be too upset with him. “I’m sorry, sir.” he said.

Chiron nodded. “Seeing as you are both here now, I think it best we eat and then I’ll show you around the mountain a bit. We can check the closest traps, and if we are very lucky, find something extra for dinner.”

The mountain was incredible, so isolated and yet teaming with life. It was strange, going from a metropolis like DMV to a place where he was almost positive he was one of three people moving about the trees. Chiron guided them through beautiful foliage, trees dappled in sunlight swaying on a soft breeze, and underbrush so vibrant it looked almost fake. It was the kind of peaceful place people posted aesthetic pictures of, not one they ever actually travelled too; Patroclus felt deeply honored to be seeing such things.

They were led around the ridges in the mountain, the natural topography winding trails and lookout places hidden within the forest. From certain spots it felt as though they could see forever, that if he looked hard enough he could see the sun glinting off the crystal blue waters of the sea; but it was probably his imagination.

There were dens where mountain lions lived, and as Chiron pointed out the first of these, Patroclus found himself moderately terrified. Having two legs and opposable thumbs seemed great before he knew about the great cats with their jaws. He looked at himself and then to his companions; it was clear that in a Darwin situation he’d definitely be eaten, he had no hope of being faster than either one. He prayed that maybe, if the mountain lions were smart, they’d see he wasn’t much more than bones; it was a small comfort. Still, he made sure to stay on the far side of the trio as they walked past the predator dens.

Achilles was smiling, like seeing such a predator would be an adventure. But when he turned that look on Patroclus, clearly thinking he’d find it reflected back at him, the smile slipped a little and he scrunched his brow.

“It would be wonderful, would it not, Patroclus? To see such great things?” Achilles asked.

Patroclus cast him a dry look, “For you, maybe. I’m good; went to the national zoo and got that badge, but thanks. If you feel like playing with those teeth though, be my guest.”

“Right…”

After that they walked deeper into the woods. The late afternoon sun hung low above the treeline, but still the heat hadn’t dissipated. It was a soft bubbling woosh he heard first, and then “Wow.”

The slow moving river was unlike any he’d ever seen. There was no question that the water was pure, so unlike those close to the city. It moved at a glacial pace, bending this way and that, a staple of its environment and yet something almost subtle. It was clear in a way water just wasn’t back home. When he looked he could see the fish as they milled through the silty foliage at the bottom, and count the rocks that lined the bed closer to shore.

The sound was enough to slow his breathing, and for a frozen moment Patroclus was entranced. He breathed in; a hawk cried overhead, the trees swayed. He breathed out; the hum of insects sang a tone that cut through the voices in his mind, and instilled calm. 

He turned to find his companions watching; Chiron, with an understanding look, as though he too knew what it was to find solace in the melody of nature. And Achilles, his eyes bright in the sun, watching him with a wistful smile. 

“You may bathe here, if you like. The cave you will find just through that gap, and the walk is not far.” Chiron said. It was then Patroclus realized just how gross he felt; walking all day through the humid summer woods without aid of deodorant had him feeling suddenly self conscious. He nodded his head, a bath sounded lovely, and in a place such as this he couldn’t refuse. 

Patroclus made his way toward a large boulder at the river’s edge, he was unconcerned with stripping himself before the forest, but the idea of doing so around his companions made him feel odd. He pulled his gritty chiton from his body, folding it nicely atop a nook in the boulder, and setting his sandals beside them. 

He stepped forward, glancing to check he was still covered, then slid his toes into the water. It was cool, refreshing, warmed as it was by the sun it felt similar to a pool. When he was sure he wasn’t about to freeze he moved purposely out into the water, back turned to his companions until he could dive beneath the surface. 

Patroclus peeled his eyes open beneath the water, and smiled as the fish swam around him, blurry and determined. 

His lungs started to burn as he watched, and he was unsure how long he’d been below the surface. It wasn’t as though he had an olympic ability to hold his breath, but he was a fair swimmer all the same. He swam closer to shore and brought his feet beneath him to stand, and as he flung the hair from his face he took a great breath. 

It felt like what he imagined baptism felt like to the devout, a rebirth of sorts here in this place where his story had found its purpose. He looked to the shore to see his companions, and found only Chiron staring back. His face gave away nothing, but his eyes cut to the right just as something large snagged his ankle.

Patroclus screamed. His foot was yanked from beneath him, and without the chance to draw breath he was thrown back beneath the surface. He came up sputtering, coughing up half the river and doing the best to calm his heart.

Achilles was cackling; that kind of laugh that came from ultimate satisfaction. It was a laugh he had in common with Bri when she’d done something shady. His blonde hair was drenched, smoothed back from his face, and his eyes were happy little crescents where he fought to keep them open as he continued.

Patroclus gave him his best glare, the one he reserved for the shitty kids at school, and people who threw their trash on the ground like the planet didn’t matter. He splashed his _Therapon,_ but the tidal wave did nothing but make the boy laugh harder.

“I could hear you scream from beneath the surface,” Achilles spit out between gasping breaths.

“Fuck you,” Paroclus replied, though the smile he could no longer hide lessened the desired effect.

When the boys calmed, they swam closer to shore where Chiron sat in a patch of sun. The centaur raised his hand to point at something beneath the water, and they turned to look. “See that?” he asked.

They nodded. “Those are loaches, and the others are vimba- a species specific to the northern region. Its smiling mouth and silver underside mark it as separate from the other fish in this river.”

Patroclus and Achilles drank in every word Chiron spoke; of which fish were most prevalent in what season, of the time best to catch them. Of where one could find large portions, and what he liked cooking them with best. He had a way of teaching them all about the biology around them without Patroclus ever feeling as he did in his typical classes. It was hands on, and it was beautiful.Nature moved around him in a way that boks couldn’t do justice in a classroom; he experienced the world, and it experienced him. Patroclus did his best to remember it all.

Such was Chiron’s power as he spoke, that Patroclus forgot all about his nudity, about the irregularity of his circumstance. He waded closer to the solid form of his teacher, and lost himself to the calm baritone of his voice. It was only when the sun had fallen below the treeline, and the sky began to bleed orange, that Chiron stopped. “Gather your clothes, and clean them. It is time we make our way back, I do not wish to eat dinner when I should be sleeping.”

Patroclus glanced nervously around, only to be met with Achilles’ bare back. The prince left the water behind, heedless of his nudity, and though it brought a ruddy color to his cheeks, Patroclus thought _when in Rome... well, Greece;_ and followed suit. 

They used rocks to scrub the dirt from their chitons, and draped them carelessly about their waists to dry as they walked back to the cave.

Chiron taught them the trail, how they could find their back here again whenever they wished. On the way he showed them the worn paths that indicated dear, and small mounds that hid rabbit warrens. The boys asked how he knew such things, and Chiron explained that would be a part of their first lessons. “You will learn to track all the creatures who make a home on this mountain, how to identify the differences between deer tracks and that of horses or other large animals. I will show you where to gather eggs, and which spots are best to look for small game- as one isn’t always able to carry the larger kills back to their home.”

 _Kills._ It was like a bucket of ice water dumped over his finally dry head.

“Hunting?” Patroclus squeaked.

“How else do you expect to eat?” Chiron replied. It was something Patroclus hadn’t even considered until a moment ago, having to find their own food upon the mountain. It wasn’t like he was a vegetarian, it was just that Patroclus preferred his food without a face. He felt ill thinking of having to take any life in such a way.

“Do you not wish to learn how to hunt, Patroclus?” Achilles asked, his brows were drawn low in confusion.

“My moms are Democrats.” He replied.

Chiron froze mid stride and turned at the waste to look at him as though seeing him for the first time. Achilles on the other hand looked helplessly confused. Patroclus still felt sick and yet, somehow the embarrassment was more. “I-it’s not something we do, where I’m from. Well, no. That’s a lie. Some people are super into it, and that’s like cool or whatever. But Bri and I agreed that the moment Bambi’s mom died, we knew it wasn’t for us.”

He was met with two identical looks of open-mouthed disbelief.

“ _What?_ ” Chiron said, seemingly to himself.

Achilles shrugged, and slowly shook his head. “I honestly have no idea.”

Patroclus sighed deeply, and said. “Is there like... a ‘gatherer’ position available on the mountain? I’m super great at putting stuff in baskets, but please don’t make me shoot something.”

“But it is only an animal,” Achilles replied. 

“So are you, asshole.” Patroclus fired back. Achilles’ mouth turned down with a nod, _10 points to hufflepuff,_ Patroclus thought.

“You are far stranger than I thought,” Chiron said. There was mocking in his tone, but it was affectionate all the same. “If you are truly unable to hunt, I will teach you to track and you best pray to the gods that you never find yourself alone in the woods… Unless you plan to survive on your ‘gathering.’”

Patroclus rolled his eyes, but it was enough. At least he wouldn’t be murdering woodland creatures. As they continued walking, Chiron moved ahead pointing at this and that, and Achilles dropped back to walk alongside him. He leaned in and whispered, “Does it count for fish as well?”

It took Patroclus a moment to realize he meant his no killing policy. “As long as I don’t have to take a picture with it on a string in short shorts, I think I’ll be fine.” He replied; sarcasm undeniable.

Achilles gave him another amused grin, “I have no idea what that means.” 

Patroclus laughed and knocked his bare shoulder against Achilles’; the sound of his joy brought a new kind of life to their private world. Achilles smiled fully, and Patroclus found that his soul was at peace in that; Though his heart still ached for his family, he was glad for today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. if you hunt, I'm not trying to be judgey. I have 0 issue with hunting I just personally couldn't kill something, that's Pat's thinking here. Like it's cool if it's for you, no harm, I'm just not shooting anything. I hit a baby deer last year bc my car couldn't stop fast enough, and when I got out I puked all over my car and the road because I'm a straight up thought I was a monster. I cried so hard the ambulance was called by someone who saw it, and they thought I was hurt and I was like no, I'm just a fucking baby. I live in the south, and when I say everyone there was staring at me like I was an alien.... well....


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pat learns some shit, reveals some truths, and turns 14.
> 
> Update #2 on 2.2.21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my loves, this one is a bit longer and a ton happens.
> 
> It's fluffy, but there are feelings too.
> 
> Few things: I did look up how ancient Greeks made ink and then boiled it down for simplicity because I needed too, so let's pretend this is a real thing.
> 
> This is my second update tonight, so if you're just tuning in jump to CH 21!(:
> 
> I hope that you enjoy this chapter<3 as usual all mistakes are my own. Thank y'all for spending the time reading this, and for all your love and support.
> 
> -Kenzi

Weeks past like that, and Patroclus counted the days in check marks on the last page of his notebook. He’d asked Chiron in his first week, if there was a way he could write, and Chiron had stared at him for a long moment before saying, “follow me.”

Chiron grabbed a vial of oil from a table near where he kept their stores of food, and led him out to the fire. When they reached the pit where they burned their logs, Chiron gathered ash and taught Patroclus how to mix the blackened ash into oil. Together with the sticky sap from trees along their clearing, they made an ancient form of ink. The process was long, and in the end he had a rather interesting textured black liquid. It wasn’t like grabbing a pen, but after his hard work he was grateful to have access to his words again in such a way. He found a feather on the forest floor, and when he’d sharpened the end he held a quill victoriously. 

He backlogged the days he’d missed, and from then on his routine began with a single check mark on a page.

A month in he realized something, “Oh.” He said to himself.

“What is it?” Achilles asked with a yawn. He’d gone hunting with Chiron in the wee hours that morning and returned to slip back beneath the covers to catch a few more minutes of sleep. 

“My birthday,” Patroclus said. “I’m 14 in three days.”

Achilles stared at him with wide eyes, then nodded. “Cool.”

“Yeah.” Patroclus replied, but his heart wasn’t in it. His first 11 birthdays had been nothing special, but the last two? the ones with his family, with Bri beneath the tree? Those had been fantastic. His heart clenched painfully in his chest, and he rubbed at the scar across his right palm. 

He wondered what his family was doing, if they missed him as he did them. It was a pain that hung from his neck like an albatross, but something he did his best to ignore. He’d made his choice, and though it hurt him like an open wound, he couldn’t change it now. He continued rubbing his palm, until a warm hand laid itself upon his own. 

He looked at the golden hand, with its lines of tendons, and blunt nails. Delicate, yet calloused. Patroclus slipped his eyes to Achilles and found him still staring at their hands. With a softness he hadn’t expected, the prince lifted his left hand from his right and traced the scar. “You did not have this before, and I know I said I would give you time… But I am curious, how did such a thing happen?”

_Bigger scar, better friends._ Patroclus’ eyes watered, but he laughed anyway. Achilles looked away for the first time, his head cocked to the side patiently waiting for an answer; his finger still tracing the mark absentmindedly. “Well… Okay, don’t get mad.” Patroclus began.

That got the prince’s attention, and his finger froze just below Patroclus’ pointer finger, where the mark was deepest at the start. “When I told Bri about you, the night I turned twelve... I told her about the Therapon thing.”

Achilles was watching him, it was skeptical and _something_ else he couldn’t put his finger on. He prayed it wasn’t anger. “So, that night after moms and Ollie were in bed, she said she had another gift for me. She gave me a knife, and then she said we should do our own blood oath because we’re forever too.” Patroclus’ eyes were pleading, he hoped Achilles would understand.

“I see.”

Patroclus rushed to continue, “It was different, but she’s my sister. And I’d never told anyone about you, and she believed me and, anyways. We sat beneath the tree, and I thought it was just going to be a thumb thing, but then she tried to saw her hand off and made me do it too. And then we kinda…” Patroclus shrugged. “Just, well- we put our hands together and said we’d love each other always. And that we’d always believe each other, and it was the first time I really realized I wasn’t going anywhere else. Besides maybe here. Obviously.”

Achilles said nothing for a long time, only looked back down at the scar. He traced it again with his finger, and Patroclus watched his jaw grow tense. He followed the line down, from the base of his forefinger to the heel of his palm, then traced it to where a second bracelet lay. Patroclus closed his eyes tight as Achilles tugged on the string. “And this?” he asked, and though they both knew the prince was smart enough to figure it out, he also knew he needed to answer.

“That… That was the second part of the gift. It’s got my favorite color, and my moms’, and Ollie’s and Bri’s.”

Patroclus peaked an eye open, and Achillese stared blankly back. “Which color is your favorite then? You have never said.”

“Green,” Patroclus whispered, almost too quiet to hear. 

Achilles heard him though, and his lips twitched slightly, softening that too careful mask he wore. The prince turned his eyes back to the bracelet, carefully turning it round.

“What do these symbols mean?” He asked fingering the beads that dotted the intricate knot pattern. 

Patroclus couldn’t help his smile, he pointed to each in turn as he explained. “ _I. E. T._ , it stands for ‘In Every Time, a promise to remember no matter when we are.”

Achilles carefully removed his hand and sat back. “Quaint.” he said.

“You’re mad.”

“I am not.” He argued, though his tight jaw and false smile told a different story. 

Patroclus hung his head, eyes locked on the three letters. “It- it wasn’t like I was trying to replace you. It was different, it’s just… It had been so long, and I was so alone and then I found Bri, and I remembered what it meant to be happy. And I told her all about you, and this place, and she didn’t think I was crazy. I need her, and I… I’m sorry you’re upset.” By the end of his rant his voice was hardly above a whisper. The bed dipped close to him, and Achilles placed a hand on his shoulder. Patroclus looked up, surprised to find Achilles’ earlier ire gone, in its place was a soft look.

“I am not upset, Patroclus. You deserve happiness, and if this Bri brought it to you then I am grateful to her for that. She guarded my Therapon when I could not, and so I am not upset. Besides…”

“Besides?” Patroclus tilted his head to the right. 

Achilles smiled a secret sort of smile, “She is your sister.” He said like that meant something.

“ _Okay?_ ” 

Achilles caught his eye and grinned, there was something beneath that look, something wicked and undefinable.

“What is that look for?” Patroclus demanded.

“There is no look.” The prince replied as he slid from the bed and made his way towards the mouth of the cave, leaving Patroclus and his tally marks behind.

“There was!” He yelled after the blonde.

Achilles only continued walking.

“He’s so fucking weird,” Patroclus muttered to the rose quartz walls.

The morning Patroclus turned 14 he was awoken by a smell, not bacon but something close. He rolled from the bed without opening his eyes, and found his way to the mouth of the cave with fumbling steps.

The sun was bright, and early birds sang a jaunty tune. He squinted towards the fire, and found Achilles steadfastly turning a spit. He walked up to his Therapon and sat on a log, for the first time, and though he hadn’t meant to be quiet, he managed to surprise the prince.

“Smells good,” he said through a yawn. Achilles jumped where he’d been focused on the fire, and looked at Patroclus with wide eyes; It was a beat before his familiar smile slid into place.

“You said you enjoy bacon, though we do not have a pig, I was able to find a boar.” He gestured at the fire like Vanna White, and Patroclus smiled ear to ear.

“You’re amazing,” he said honestly. The way Achilles lit up at the praise made Patroclus’ stomach flip flop, and he broke their locked gaze to stare at the fire; praying the pink in his cheeks would be blamed on the heat it gave off.

“Since it is your birthday, I thought we could go for a swim.” Achilles said, and Patroclus, nodded. Swimming sounded fun, they’d had so many fun days in the river. Some days they’d swim to the deep pool they’d found just a mile down from where they’d gone that second day. There they’d swing from branches or jump from the rocks, doing tricks and just being boys; carefree and wild.

He nodded, “That sounds great.”

Chiron walked out from the woods, and smiled at Patroclus. “Good morning, Walker. Happy birthday.” He said, and it was warm and paternal in a way he’d never experienced.

“Thank you,” he said, and Chiron nodded.

They shared a breakfast of boar-bacon and figs, and when their bellies were stated, Achilles jumped up and ran into the cave without a word. “Alright...” Patroclus said, and Chiron snorted.

“I think you will find your Therapon has quite the mind for celebration,” he said. 

“What does that mean?” Patroclus asked.

Chiron shrugged and smiled knowingly. It made Patroclus nervous for reasons he couldn’t explain. “As I believe you will not be home until a centaur of my age is deep into the world of dreams, I thought it would be best I give you this now.”

Patroclus looked up, eyes wide, as Chiron pulled a small box from seemingly nowhere. He hadn’t been expecting anything at all, and he went to shake his head. Whatever it was was probably best left for other reasons, but Chiron gave him no choice. He set the box on Patroclus’ lap and nodded toward it.

Patroclus took a deep breath and opened the box, his eyes burned and his chest felt full and happy. Inside were 10 new feather quills, carved from birds of all colors, and three bottles of the strange ink he’d taught Patroclus to make. His fingers shook as he ran them across the feathered tops.

“Chiron, thank you.” He whispered and poured as much meaning and love into those three words as he could. 

“You are welcome, little one.” Chiron said.

Just as he’d closed the lid back on the box, Achilles came tumbling out of the cave mouth. It was such an odd thing, to see the prince nearly unsteady on his feet; Patroclus lifted his brow.

Achilles carried with him his pack, and by the looks of it, it was full; Though of what, he had no idea. Achilles smiled awkwardly and Chiron huffed in amusement, “Have a good afternoon.” He said, and wandered toward the cave.

“Are you ready?” Achilles asked coming to a stop and breathing kind of hard. 

Patroclus stared at him for a long moment, then nodded at the box. “Yeah? I just have to bring this back to the cav-”

“No. No you should just hand it to me.” Achilles said with that weird smile still in place. Patroclus handed him to the box though he was skeptical.

Achilles took off his huge pack and glanced at Patroclus before turning around to open the top and slip the box inside, then shut it and slung it over his shoulders once more.

It was so weird, Patroclus asked. “What’s in the pack?”

“Hmm? Nothing, the usual. You know. Come along Patroclus, we do not want to waste the day!” And with that Achilles was off, cutting a brutal pace. Patroclus sighed heavily, then hauled himself from the log and jogged to catch up.

Achilles did not lead them to the river. Instead he walked steadily in a direction Patroclus had never really explored, and each time he asked where they were going Achilles said, “You will see. Not long now.”

On the eighth _‘Not long now’_ and about an hour later, he cut around a large boulder and pushed a low hanging branch out of the way with a smile at Patroclus. “Go on,” he said.

Patroclus glared at him in confusion, then did as he was asked. “Holy shit.”

“Do you like it?” Achilles said from right behind him, Patroclus never heard him get close.

“How did you find this? _When_ did you find it?” He asked. What he was looking at was a wonderland. It was large boulders and low hanging trees. All around a small lake were wild flowers, and they painted the shores in hues that reminded Patroclus of an impressionist painting he’d seen in his art class. 

It was like the world fell away here, even the birds seemed in awe. It was quiet in a way things rarely were, and Patroclus couldn’t hide his awe.

“I found it on a recent hunt, but decided it would make a good surprise.” Achilles said proudly. He walked ahead, climbing atop a flat rock that hung out a few feet above the water. There he set down the pack and as Patroclus hurried to join him, he opened it without ceremony.

“Can I finally see what you’ve brought?” he asked.

Achilles laughed, “Patience, Patroclus.”

First he pulled the box of ink and quills out, which made sense because they’d been on the top. Next he pulled out a cloth Patroclus knew he wrapped his lyre in, and Patroclus smiled. He loved when Achilles played for him. Next he withdrew Patroclus’ journal, but before Patroclus could say anything he looked up. “I did not look, because I know you are not ready to share. But you are always writing, and I thought that maybe it would be nice for you to do so here.”

Patroclus had no words to describe how thoughtful he found that; and so he said nothing at all, he only smiled.

What followed the journal were sacks each holding different food: dried meat, figs, and the wild strawberries Patroclus had found the morning before. He pulled out a large fur to spread out across the rock, and Patroclus thought he may have died. “A picnic.” he said, and the words sounded airy. He cleared his throat with a blush, but Achilles just smiled.

The prince grabbed two ends of the fur, and shook it to spread it out, but there was a strange sound of something hitting rock. Both boys froze, and Patroclus felt suddenly sick. 

_No, not yet_ he thought. They couldn’t do this to him, not now, not here, not after everything. As much as he wanted to see his family, wanted to sing in the kitchen and lay beneath the tree while Bri sang him a weird birthday song she’d made up and thought was better than the original; he wasn’t ready.

The fur slipped from Achilles fingers, and fell awkwardly in a heap. Slowly he looked to Patroclus. 

His eyes were huge; terrified. 

Patroclus took a step toward where they’d heard it land, his breath coming in short pants. His hands shook at his sides, so he balled them in fists.

Achilles still hadn’t moved.

Patroclus slid from the flat rock, and searched the ground for the telltale glint of the drachma in the sun, but what he found was something different.

A small piece of wood, carved with an inexperienced hand. Patroclus picked it up, turning it this way and that. There were curls, or what looked to be curls atop a little wood head. The nose was crooked on the delicate face, and one ear sat near the chin, while the other sat where an ear should. The shoulders were narrow where they attached to the head; it had no neck to speak of. It rounded off at the bottom with a sort of chiton-like russian nesting doll vibe, and Patroclus huffed a laugh. 

He looked all around but there was no magic coin, and as he thought more about it, the sound they’d heard wasn’t metallic at all. He climbed back up the rock, figurine in hand, and found Achilles where he’d left him.

“Did you find it?” The prince asked. He was doing his best to keep his voice steady, but Patroclus heard it shake all the same. A part of him wanted to make a joke, but that would be cruel; so instead he shook his head.

“The drachma? Not that.” He smiled.

Achilles let out such a great breath, Patroclus was surprised his lungs could hold so much air. He rushed up to Patroclus, and threw his arms around him holding tight for a long moment. Then he stepped back and put both of his large hands on Patroclus’ shoulders. “If not that, then what did you find?” the prince asked.

Patroclus channeled his time on stage, and did his best impression of someone confused. “I’m not sure... thought you could tell me.” 

Achilles’ confusion however, was real. “What-”

“What’s this?” Patroclus asked with an innocent grin. He made his eyes wide and cowlike as he lifted the figurine in the scant space between their bodies.

Achilles looked down, and Patroclus waited. 

Pink bloomed across freckled gold, and Achilles snatched the figure from Patroclus like a viper, holding it behind his back. His green eyes were wide, a kid caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. “N-nothing.” He squeaked.

“Thought you didn’t lie,” Patroclus tilted his head the opposite way.

“I-I am not. It is nothing, just a thing, from a friend.”

“A friend?”

“Yeah, Automedon? Do you remember him? Small? Likes horses? He uh, he made it for me on my birthday.”

“I see.” Patroclus smiled. “Who is it supposed to be?”

“No one, j-just a figure. Nothing special or anything.”

Patroclus tsked the prince. “See, I don’t believe you Achilles. It has curls.”

“And?” Achilles argued, though his voice was rapidly losing its power.

“I have curls.”

“Do you?” Achilles asked, looking at Patroclus’ hair like it was the first time he’d seen it. Achilles Pelides was many things, an actor he was not. 

“Mmm,” Patroclus hummed and made a grab for the figure but the prince was too quick. He danced away, somehow managing to stay on the rock though his bare feet were dangerously close to the ledge. If he took even a single step back he’d tumble into the lake. “Why did Automedon carve you a curly haired figure, Achilles?”

Achilles was as red as the wild strawberries he’d packed for Patroclus. He sputtered and Patroclus couldn’t help the pleasant feeling that had settled in his heart. This meant something, something he didn’t understand entirely, but something all the same.

“Itwassupposedtobeyou” Achilles said all in one breath, then finally met Patroclus’ eye. “It was supposed to be you. I-I missed you, and so he made it for my birthday. I brought it with me be-because... I thought you might like Pelion.”

It was soft; honest. It made Patroclus stomach do the thing, and his heart and throat traded places. “Oh,” he said; Because what else was there?

Achilles tossed the wooden Patroclus into the pack in the silence between them, but neither boy it seemed could find another thing to say. It had gone from scary to funny, to uncomfortable, and Patroclus couldn’t stand it. So in that way that all boys act when things are too big, he opted for nonsense.

Patroclus smiled at Achilles, and Achilles returned it right before he flew from the rock.

Patroclus pushed him directly into the lake.

He laughed like Achilles, like Bri when she did something shady. He cackled like a witch as Achilles screeched before he hit the water. 

Achilles resurfaced in a mop of gold; and though he was glaring, his smile was firmly in place.

“That was quite rude, Patroclus.” He said, and Patroclus kept laughing.

“I could hear you scream the whole way down,” he said parroting words from weeks before.

“Yes, yes. Very funny. But I was not done getting everything set up.” Achilles said as he swam to the rock.

Years from now, in his darkest moments, Patroclus would look back on this moment and ask himself: did I really not know? Or did I only pretend because I _wanted_ so badly and it terrified me?

The prince held up an innocent hand, and said softly. “Help me up, Patroclus.” 

Patroclus didn’t hesitate.

And as the boy with the strength of a god tore him from the rock, and launched him into the secret lake, Patroclus thought: _This. This. This._

_____________________________________________

**Virginia:**

The Phillips family gathered on a picnic blanket beneath the tree in their backyard. As the clock rolled from 11:59 to midnight, they lit a single candle atop a maple-bacon cupcake.

“Happy Birthday, Pat.” Bri whispered to the stars. 

Jackie and Hope held their two remaining children tight, and together they watched the flicker of the lonely candle until the wind blew it out. 

The Phillips four each closed their eyes, and wished a single wish. _Come home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Achilles be like: "I'm not jelly. But also I'ma kill you a boar, find a secret place, pack a picnic, sing to you, and smile a bunch bc that's how normal people do with their best friends. *suck it Bri*"


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a little while, time for Achilles to show off what he was made for 
> 
> Update #1 of 2.8.2021

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! First I am so sorry for there not being an update for a few days. I nanny 3 kids and the mom was pregnant, so I was on call for the birth all week. Thursday evening she went into labor, and because of covid restrictions her husband could only enter the hospital once, if he left at all he wouldn't be allowed back in. So I was at their house from thursday-saturday afternoon, and when I got home saturday I was worn out. I ended up a little sick on yesterday so I decided to just rest, but I'm feeling better now! So here's your first update of the night (:
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! I wrote it to this song, and if you're like me and someone who loves a soundtrack know that this is it for this chapter (well the first 3/4- the end emotional bit isn't this song but whatever). 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rSIDz0k_tyw
> 
> As always, thank you for taking the time to read and comment, I appreciate y'all more than I can say. And I'm sorry about the delay, this wont be a regular deal. I plan on putting out a chapter every other day min. until this fic is done now that the baby is here! Some days you may get more than one (like today bc I'm on a role).
> 
> -Kenzi

“Chiron,” Achilles said from where he was hunched over a small bowl of figs. The early birds were singing tunes that echoed through the mountain like a wild orchestra, and the dew had not yet dried on the grass below their feet. Patroclus looked up at his Therapon who’d turned his attention to their teacher.

“Mm?” Chiron replied, a thick black brow raised slightly showing his interest.

“We have been here nearly two months and you have not yet asked to see me fight.” Achilles’ voice was carefully blank, though Patroclus didn’t miss the underlying notes of hurt tumbled in with confusion. Patroclus looked on curiously. He’d known his Therapon for a long time, and he’d never seen him fight; though he knew of his greatness.

Chiron swallowed his own fruit slowly, then turned his attention fully to the blonde. His voice held no judgement nor a clue to what it was he was thinking as he asked, “Is that what you have come to learn?”

Patroclus thought about all they had already learned, the training Chiron doled out in all different forms. They’d learned many things, hunting and tracking, fishing and medicine. How to cook using what they could find, which plants were safe and which were poisonous; but fighting hadn’t been one, hadn’t even been mentioned. 

Achilles had said Chiron was a teacher of heroes, great warriors turned to him to hone their craft then went on to perform for history books. His eyes darted from the centaur to the prince, and he watched as Achilles took the question in stride. _Was fighting why he was truly here?_ Patroclus found he too wished to know the answer.

Achilles swallowed another fig, pink lips lingering on his fingers a moment, before he nodded and said. “Among other things.”

Chiron seemed pleased by this, knowing that the prince was not only after the glory of a fight but to learn all that he had to offer. He set his bowl of fruit down on the stump at his side, then dusted his hands and stood up on his great hooves. “Well, then by all means. Show me what you have learned, and we will see what is still left for me to teach you.”

Achilles smiled his most radiant smile, and jumped to his feet sprinting into the cave mouth far faster than Patroclus could have hoped to move. 

He felt it then, the war inside. He was excited to see what this great warrior in training was capable of; _Aristos Achaion_ before the great war of his time. But _it_ was there too, that worry that never quite left. They had time still, that he knew. Patroclus prayed his friend would be capable of learning enough to keep him alive, and at the same time wished he’d never have to fight.

Almost before he stood, Achilles was striding confidently from the cave with a long spear in his left hand and a gladius in his right. Chiron walked towards the open field of grass to the left of the fire and Patroclus joined him. 

Achilles walked before them both, each weapon dangling lazily at his sides. He lifted them a little and asked, “Which would you see first?”

Chiron nodded to the spear, and Achilles returned the gesture then dropped the sword carelessly at his feet. He took the spear, tossing it back and forth between his hands as he moved a few yards away. 

When he’d reached his desired spot, he turned once more to face them. His stance was open, left foot back, right foot forward; his hips were lined and his shoulders straight, as he held the spear aloft. He gripped it tight, pointing it in Patroclus’ direction, and there was a look on his face- it was almost... nervous.

The spear shifted in his hands, and his eyes darted up to Chiron, then Patroclus. Chiron waited patiently for him to speak, it was clear he was stalling, though the reason wasn’t.

“I, uhm…” Achilles cleared his throat. “Well, I have never shown anyone but my parents. How would you like me to do this?” He said, a rosy hue tinting his cheeks.

Chiron smiled softly, “Then it is a great honor, Achilles, that we should see such things. Proceed as you would in training, and we will discuss it after.”

Achilles nodded, and his hands tightened on the shaft of the Spear. The nervous set to his mouth fell away, and Patroclus watched in awe as a look of pure peace replaced it. Achilles drew the spear back, then thrust forward with such accuracy Patroclus knew it hadn’t left the exact line Achilles had set it on.

The blonde pulled it back with the same quickness, and what followed was nothing short of film worthy. The way the spear twirled in his hands, an extension of him, and his feet danced upon the dewy ground. 

Over and over Achilles struck at invisible targets, dancing away from an enemy only he knew he was fighting. He was light on his feet and graceful in the most lethal way. He was like an asp, quick and sharp. And then he would turn, and the wind would catch his hair and chiton in a beautiful swirl that stole Patroclus’ breath from his lungs.

The sun glinted off his golden hair, off the sharpened tip of his spear, and Patroclus thought not for the first time that Achilles was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

The prince continued as Patroclus watched, and to his right Chiron said nothing. The weapon sped up, going impossibly faster than it had been only minutes before, until the wood was little more than a mirage of brown in Achilles hands. He lept and ducked, rolled and came up with a thrust. He was magic in this moment; and Patroclus who had lost his voice when the show began, found it long enough to whisper one single word, “ _Jedi._ ”

Because that’s what it was. It was Luke with the seeker droid, or Obi Wan and Qui Gon Against the Trade Federation droids in the hall. It was a fucking movie, and Patroclus wished with childish glee that the spear was a lightsaber, if only to see its movement more clearly. 

When enough time had passed, Chiron raised his hand and Achilles stopped on a dime; His chiton and hair swinging wildly around him before they too settled. 

It was then that Patroclus realized the blonde was hardly breathing any harder than he had been before he’d begun. It was like that deadly dance had been no more difficult for him than the act of walking up a flight of stairs. Achilles didn’t take his eyes off Chiron, he simply waited at attention like a good soldier.

Chiron gestured to the sword at their feet, and said “Next.” There was no emotion on his face, nor in his voice, and Patroclus wondered what he was thinking. This was a man who had seen the greats, the child of a Titan; was he as impressed as Patroclus was?

He forgot his worry over the ramifications of such violent acts, and fell into a giddy wonder as Achilles walked forward. The prince shot an indiscernible look at Patroclus as he thrust the spear into the earth at Chiron’s feet, and reached down to grab his sword. Patroclus could do nothing but smile, and Achilles puffed his chest just a little more, returning that smile with a smirk that did funny things to his stomach.

The prince walked away, twirling the sword around in lazy circles, whether to warm the muscles he needed to use to handle such a weapon, or to show off; Patroclus wasn’t certain.

Achilles stopped in the same place he’d been before, the grass well worn from his previous show, and lifted the gladius into position with a flourish. He stared at Chiron, that same peaceful expression back in place, and took a deep breath.

“Begin.” The centaur rumbled.

And then it was this...

The sun catching the deadly blade and shooting lines of light in all directions.

The steady breaths Achilles took with each turn; each roll.

It was the subtle hum of the blade that moved so quickly Patroclus swore he could cut the molecules in the air in half.

It was even more incredible to watch than the spear had been. Achilles switched his grip a number of ways, two hands, then left, then right; never once did he slow his dance. The forest around them grew quiet, as though it too wished to witness _Aristos Achaion_ in his element.

Chiron shifted, and Patroclus drug his eyes away from the prince long enough to see the centaur retrieve a bow and arrow from his back. At first he was confused, Achilles was still fighting his invisible army, and Chiron had yet to say anything more than ‘begin.’ 

He didn’t have time to ask, not even the time to warn the prince, before the giant to his right drew back the arrow and fired.

Achilles was faced away, sword to the trees, and Patroclus watched in silent horror as time slowed; The arrow sailed towards the prince’s unprotected back.

Patroclus wanted to scream, to stop it, to do anything at all; this was his nightmare, the reason he’d come back. He was supposed to save him, but he’d been too late. There was nothing he could do but stare. 

The arrow that Chiron fired was aimed perfectly to pierce Achilles heart from behind, he would be dead as the deer Achilles brought home from the forest in a second. 

It never struck its target. 

There was a breath, sharp and awed to his right as the Prince, without ever turning around, dropped to his left knee. The arrow hit metal, and the sound of splintering wood echoed in the silent clearing.

Achilles breathed heavily from his crouch; his right hand steady on the ground by his right foot, his left holding the sword high behind his back, its lethal edge glinting in the sun.

“What the fuck!” Patroclus screamed, his voice finally returned.

Chiron said nothing and Achilles slowly stood; each vertebrae of his back rolling itself back inline with controlled power. He was breathing hard for the first time since this had begun, as he turned to face Chiron with a glint in his eye.

Achilles Pelides stood with his feet apart, his chest rising and falling in ever slowing breaths. His blonde hair was plastered to his temples and his gladius dangled innocently at his side. 

Patroclus watched in shock as the greatest of the Greeks, young as he was, lifted his chin at Chiron and smirked.

Patroclus took a bumbling step towards his Therapon, his hands shook and his legs felt like jelly. He’d almost lost his friend, and that thought propelled him further forward. Achilles' eyes snapped to him, and before Patroclus knew it he was running to his friend. Achilles watched him curiously as Patroclus patted him down, checking for an injury he knew wasn’t present, but he still needed to feel that his friend was whole. 

Achilles didn’t move, only let him do what he needed to see he was okay. When he was sure there wasn’t a single scratch upon the blonde, Patroclus whirled around to face Chiron. 

Their teacher held his bow loosely at his side, as though he hadn’t just shot to kill. 

Patroclus felt it then, his father’s anger, it tore through him like hellfire. He bared his teeth at the centaur and growled, “You could have killed him. What the _fuck_ were you thinking?”

Chiron looked at him for a long moment with a strange expression, and then his lips twitched, and Patroclus experienced another first. The centaur snorted, and it turned into a hearty laugh as the bow slipped from his fingers to clatter upon the grass. His amusement did nothing to dampen the rage Patroclus felt, and though he held nothing but respect for his teacher, he was prepared to give him a piece of his mind. It didn’t matter that he barely came up to the centaur’s navel, nor that he had no training; Patroclus would fight for his Therapon, because what he’d seen had terrified him. _How dare he?_

Patroclus made it three steps before a familiar large hand grasped his shoulder from behind and pulled him to a stop. “Patroclus,” Achilles said, and his voice was soft. 

Patroclus closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose before he turned to face the prince. Achilles too was smiling at him, and Patroclus wanted to slap him for being so careless. “Patroclus, I am fine. Chiron would not have done what he did if he thought I would be harmed.” 

Patroclus was breathing hard, and Achilles dropped his sword at their feet to grab his other shoulder and hold him firmly in place. The prince leaned his forehead against Patroclus’ and his emerald eyes were sincere. “I am _Aristos Achaion_ Patroclus, it will take more than a single arrow to end me.” 

Patroclus shook his head, rocking both their faces with the movement, as a previously forgotten image from an old story of a hero with an arrow through his ankle flooded his mind. “No, no you-” 

“Patroclus,” Achilles said more sharply. He moved his right hand to the back of Patroclus’ neck, and Patroclus stopped mid sentence. _What did I almost do?_ he was horrified that he’d almost told the prince. There were basic rules to time travel, Doctor Who had taught him that much. He could have ruined everything with the words he felt burning on his tongue. Patroclus swallowed them down, and tasted like acid. “I will not leave you.” Achilles whispered. 

“O-Okay.” Patroclus took a steadying breath, and Achilles dropped his hands from him as he took a step back. 

He turned then, to face Chiron whose face still held amusement; though he watched Patroclus with too-sharp eyes. He wanted to apologize for his outburst, but before he could Achilles spoke in that unaffected way of his. “So, you have seen me fight. What is your assessment?” 

Achilles grabbed his sword and ambled toward Chiron with an ease unbefitting someone who was almost killed by their teacher. The Centaur looked just a moment longer at Patroclus before turning his eyes back on the prince. He shrugged his broad shoulders and said, “There is nothing more I can teach you.” 

“Truly?” the prince asked. 

Chiron nodded. “Your skill was not exaggerated, and the speed with which you operate far outweighs the others who have come before you. I would argue that your ability rivals that of the Gods.” 

Achilles puffed his chest, clearly proud of himself. “Thank you,” he said with a bow, and the centaur nodded back. 

“Why don’t you take those back to the cave, and Patroclus and I will clear breakfast, hmm? Then we can travel to the falls, there are some plants there that I need to make a salve, and I will need help carrying it home.” 

Achilles nodded with a bright smile, and scooped his weapons up before jogging towards the cave. Patroclus watched him leave, then looked back at his teacher. 

He felt it deep in his gut, his least favorite feeling; guilt. It tore at his stomach, and turned his cheeks the color of bricks. He kicked his sandaled foot at the grass, and stared at Chiron’s hooves. 

“Patroclus,” Chiron said softly, when Achilles was gone. 

Slowly, Patroclus looked up. “I-I’m Sor-” 

“Patroclus,” Chiron said again, and Patroclus snapped his jaw shut. “It would seem that the curse of being a walker is greater than simply heartbreak. You have come here with dangerous knowledge, or am I wrong?” 

Patroclus opened his mouth, then closed it. His eyes stung, and his nose tickled; How did Chiron _always_ know? He didn’t know what to say, what he _could_ say, and so he simply nodded. 

Chiron grasped his shoulder in one hand, and his other came beneath Patroclus’ chin. He lifted his face, and bent down so that he was on the same level. Chiron’s dark eyes were filled with sympathy, and he sounded sad as he spoke. “You carry on your shoulders a burden I am not unfamiliar with. There is power in what you know; and weakness. I know how it feels to see things in a way only fates should see them.” 

Chiron sighed. “I cannot tell you that it becomes less painful, the truth has a way of carving into us in patterns we never expected. But know this, young walker. For as long as he is on this mountain, I will guard him with my life. When the time comes for you to leave, you will take my place. Whatever the burden you carry, know that there is _always_ a way- you simply have to find it.” 

“I can’t lose him,” Patroclus whispered. 

Chiron nodded, “I Kn-” 

“I grabbed the packs!” Achilles interrupted cheerfully, and the moment was lost. Chiron’s hands slid from Patroclus, and with a lingering look and a reassuring nod, the two turned to face the golden prince. 

He danced down the little hill from the cave towards them, three empty packs slung over his shoulder and a radiant smile on his face. The clouds parted, and Patroclus took a deep breath when emerald eyes turned him with a wink. 

_There is always a way_ Patroclus told himself. And as Achilles passed him his pack, empty save for the familiar weight of his journal at the bottom, he smiled at his friend. 

_He is safe on the mountain,_ and for now that was enough. 


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Update #2 2.8.21
> 
> If you haven't read Chapter 23, go back!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I guess the only notes I have about this chapter are that a) it's the last one I'm posting tonight, and b)it's a split POV. These kinds of chapters, with both boy's perspectives will happen occasionally. You'll see why it's necessary.
> 
> Be sure to check end notes for an explanation I don't want to give beforehand bc spoilers

**Patroclus:**

She came a few weeks later, on one of those rare mornings when Patroclus found himself awake before his Therapon. Achilles had gone out the night before, hunting large game whose pelts would keep away the impending winter chill; sadly Summer was in its final weeks.

Patroclus snuck from their bed, and tiptoed from the cave, a fur draped across his shoulders as he moved through the clearing. As usual, Chiron was nowhere to be found; he’d long ago decided the centaur must need less sleep than teenagers. 

As quietly as he could, Patroclus lifted heavy logs from the pile they’d stocked beside the cave, and placed them in the ring of stones at the center of their clearing. He grabbed two rocks, just as he’d been shown months before, and struck them against each other. Unlike when he’d first learned, it only took two strikes before a spark caught on the dried leaves. The smell of smoke was strong, and Patroclus bent forward to blow at the embers, in a matter of minutes the fire caught.

He stayed a little longer to make sure the wind that tore through the early morning didn’t put out his hard work; and turned his hands back and forth to steal more warmth. When the fire was safely large enough, he stepped away to grab a basket and wander just inside the treeline to collect figs and wild berries for breakfast.

His basket was nearly half full when he felt something, _off._ Silence unlike any he’d experienced on the mountain seeped through the underbrush like fog. Patroclus was hunched over strawberry thatch when he recognized it; the absence. The birds who sang to him each morning had gone quiet, and the steady hum of bugs was lost. It was eerie, the way even the wind seemed to hold; the forest made not a sound. He slipped the handful into his basket and stood slowly, drawing in only the smallest breath. 

A chill walked icy fingers down his spine, raising goose flesh in its wake. He did his best to calm his racing heart, and debated his next move. From the corner of his eye, not 20 yards away he could see the clearing through the trees. 

The sun that normally lit their private yard like a beacon had almost dulled in color, and the fire had pulled down so that only the embers burned. He swallowed; hard. 

Something was in the forest with him, something great, that took him from apex predator to prey in a matter of breaths. He could run for it, make it to the clearing where he knew he’d find weapons.

He could scream, though if the predator didn’t already know where he was that would surely give him away. Achilles would come running, and Patroclus would be safe only if he was fast enough- if he wasn’t, or something went wrong, both him and his prince would be dead before Chiron ever returned.

Or he could try to sneak back, a plan similar to the first though smarter as he’d learned two important lessons from Chiron in his time here: Running from a predator would trigger their hunting response, and he was not fast enough to make it anyway.

He took a deep, slow breath, and moved more carefully than he ever had; eyes locked on the clearing. _I can make it_ he told himself, he had to. His job in Greece was not yet finished. 

Heel to toe he tread ever closer to the clearing, in the absence of the wild orchestra of Pelion, he swore every sound he made was as loud as a drum. The swish of his chiton around his thighs, the berries rolling in the basket, the stick of his heel as it pulled away from the sole of his shoe; his heart was loud in his ears, even his eyes seemed to click with each blink. Never in his life had Patroclus felt less stealthy.

Five feet from the clearing he felt it, the undeniable and unnerving feeling of eyes on your back. Whatever it was, had found him.

_Shit_ He was close- so close- to safety; there was an axe by the pile of wood, a large knife by the fire. He need only make it to them.

Another step; another slow breath. 

4 feet.

Patroclus set his heel down carefully, and as he shifted his weight he heard the snap- a twig he’d missed in his haste to make clear those 48” of underbrush, snapped beneath his weight. 

Something moved behind him, and though he knew better, Patroclus was terrified; he ran.

The basket clattered to the ground, and the fur he’d draped across his shoulders flew behind him. 

Patroclus’ breaths were anything but quiet now, and just as he went to scream for help, his foot clipped a rock and he flew into the clearing. The ground tore at his knees and elbows and he tumbled to a stop. He could feel it behind him still, and so Patroclus rolled onto his back, ignoring the bite of pain from where he’d hit the earth. If this was how he died, he’d look death in the face; like a hero.

He lifted his head from the ground, and what he found was far from the mountain lion he’d expected, or even a bear. It was something far more terrifying. 

She stood barefoot just inside the trees, her blood red lips pulled back in a smile that froze the heart in his chest. Her teeth were as sharp as her cheekbones, and though there was no wind to speak of her waist length black hair flew around her as though caught in a current. 

She was as pale as she’d been before, and while Patroclus had grown since last he’d seen her face, she hadn’t aged a day. The witch woman radiated power, and he was momentarily paralyzed with fear. If she was here, it could mean only one thing: He was going back.

Patroclus shook his head furiously, dragging himself backwards in a frantic crawl. “I’m not ready,” he sobbed. “I can’t go. You can’t make me go!”

The woman cocked her head like an animal, and her beady eyes watched him as he tried to flee. She moved forward slowly, but like his nightmares she covered more ground than he could make up. 

The woman stopped a foot from where he was cowering on the ground. Patroclus’ hands shook, and the tears poured freely from his eyes. “I can’t,” he croaked.

“Silence.” Her voice was like a tidal wave, like a breaking dam. It was depthless and cold, and Patroclus could only do as she’d commanded. “Look at you.”

She circled him as she continued, and Patroclus felt like nothing at her feet. “Therapon to a future God? However did you manage such a thing? Little human… You were not meant to return, and yet here you are. Why is it the Fates keep sending you back? You are the end of all things, and I would kill you where lay if not for my son.”

The woman’s black eyes bored holes into his soul. “Tell me, where is he?”

Patroclus’ eyes were wide with terror. _Son?_ He didn’t understand the question. “W-who?”

“Do not toy with me,” the woman spat; And if possible the cold around them, the crushing silence grew tenfold. She was so tall where she loomed over him, she blotted out the sun. “You came here with my son, and you have no right to hold him from me.”

_Son… Achilles… This, this was his mother?_ Patroclus felt sick. The woman he’d been told so much about, the one he’d been eager to meet even though she hated humans, because she loved Achilles so; was the same woman who’d given him a shell and a drachma and stole him from this place. How could she have done such a thing to them? _How could he have kept this from me?_

Betrayal must have been plain on his face, because the woman- Achilles’ Goddess mother, laughed; there was nothing human about the cracking sound. It was cruel; unforgiving. It was a sound from his nightmares.

“He did not tell you? How very… interesting. It seems my son may be smarter than I have given him credit for.” She folded her hands primly in front of her, and leaned in, as if to tell him a secret. Patroclus shrank into himself, he wished he could fall through the earth if only to get more distance. 

“I am Thetis, Goddess of the Sea and Commander of the Nereides. I am she who bore _Aristos Achaion_ , and I am she who will walk with him to Olympus when you are long in the bowels of Tartarus. I will ask only once more, for I am a benevolent mother;” 

Thetis leaned in, so close Patroclus swore he could taste the salt water that wicked from her hair. He struggled to breathe, her power so monumental it was as if he was drowning on the mountain.

“ _Where. Is. My. Son._ ” She growled through too sharp teeth.

“Mother!” Achilles shouted. Thetis’ head snapped up and Patroclus felt the air return to his lungs.

She disappeared and Patroclus rolled onto his stomach to see her now standing toward the mouth of the cave. He choked on air, and pushed himself to his knees. The adrenaline left his body in a woosh that made him feel weak, and his head was swimming. Patroclus looked at his Therapon, only to find him staring back. His green gaze was hard, unreadable, and locked on Patroclus. 

Achilles didn’t move as his mother traced pale fingers through the gold silk of his hair, he only nodded at whatever she said to him- too quietly for Patroclus to hear. The prince watched him, and he watched back as everything Thetis had said tumbled over itself in his mind.

_You were not meant to return._

_Did he not tell you?_

_Tartarus._

Fear was replaced by hurt, so deep and cold Patroclus could feel his heart breaking. He’d always told Achilles everything he could, no matter how much it hurt, or how long it took. The prince who claimed never to lie, had done a better job of it than Patroclus had known. He’d told him about the woman and the shell, about the fig and the drachma. About how he’d had nightmares for years about that woman with the bloody lips, who offered him kindness then watched with glee as he was torn from his other half. 

Every night he saw her face, saw Achilles running like the wind, but he never made it. A hundred times he had his heart torn from his chest while he slept, only to wake with tears streaming down his face and an apology on his lips.

He’d confessed his nightmares to Achilles, when the woman stole him away a week after he’d come back, and he’d woken to Achilles hovering over him- calling his name. It had been embarrassing, but the idea of being taken before he could save the prince had brought back a familiar terror. 

And Achilles had listened, had dried his tears and told him it was okay… His mother had done this to them, and he’d hid that truth.

He needed space, he needed time to feel his hurt, to rearrange his heart to fit this new knowledge; time to understand. 

If he’d angered a Goddess, and she claimed the Fates were responsible for him, what else was he missing? Achilles’ eyes grew wide as Patroclus stood fully, and stepped back. _I’m not running,_ he wanted to say. _I just need a minute._ But Thetis was talking again, and Patroclus couldn’t find his words- they were lost to the tide of his hurt, his confusion; his fear. 

He took another step, and his back came against something warm and large; the familiar scent of almond and pine closed around him. _Chiron._ He rolled his head back, and the blurry image of his teacher swam before him. Whatever Chiron saw, he understood. With a subtle nod he stepped away, and allowed Patroclus to turn from the cave.

He took a step, and then another; And as Patroclus ran from the clearing into the silent woods he heard Chrion’s booming voice. “Thetis, what are you doing on my mountain?”

Patroclus ran familiar paths, weaving between trees and below branches. He hopped over the logs he knew would be in his way, and cut around prickly bushes. It was a short time before he found himself at the lazy river, and when his feet reached the lapping shore he sank down.

“Fuck,” he said to no one; then he screamed it. “FUCK!”

His voice bounced across the river like a stone, and echoed in the hollows of trees. A group of birds took flight from a nearby tree, and Patroclus felt guilty for scaring them. 

Patroclus ran his fingers over the beads on his right wrist, the promise from his sister; gods how he wished she was here. “What do I do now, Bri? All this time he _knew,_ he knew she’s who took me, who haunted me, and said nothing.”

He did this when he was alone on the mountain, talked to the ghost of a sister not yet born; and though she never answered him, he found peace in it. 

“I’m not, I mean I’m angry. But it was okay, I gotta have you, and moms, and Ollie. But I came back, and he never said anything, even when I had the nightmare again, and I told him. His mother-“ Patroclus cut himself off. Achilles' mother had sent him away, said he wasn’t supposed to come back. She had hurt them both for reasons he couldn’t understand, but suspected the prince knew. 

Patroclus pressed deeply into the scar on his palm, and as his tears fell freely, he whispered. “He knew Bri, what she did to me, and he said nothing….”

______________________________________________________

**Achilles:**

He watched Patroclus stand on shaky legs, his strange colored chiton he’d brought with him from the other place, was covered in grass and dirt. His mother ran her cold fingers through his hair, and though he kept his jaw tight, his face closed down; he knew how badly he’d messed up.

Achilles could do nothing but stare at his Therapon and drown in the betrayal he found swimming in his honey brown eyes. _Please let me explain,_ he wanted to beg. 

And he would beg. It wasn’t what a prince would do, nor a future god, but for Patroclus? Achilles would fall to his knees and beg, just as long as he stayed.

“You have not come to see me,” His mother said. He nodded numbly, eyes still locked on his friend. “It has been months...” she continued but her words were lost. 

Achilles saw it, that moment when Patroclus stood fully. Great tears spilled over his warm brown cheeks, and it made his stomach twist; guilt. 

He’d done this, him and his mother, and there was nothing he could do until Patroclus let him explain. _If he lets you,_ taunted a cruel voice in his head.

Patroclus took a step back, and Achilles felt his heart thrumming beneath his ribs. The last time he’d seen that look, he’d watched the curly haired boy of his dreams walk away; and he didn’t come home for many years. Acid crawled up his throat and he pleaded with his eyes for his Therapon to stay.

Patroclus took another step, and with it he stole Achilles’ breath.

And then there was Chiron, and for a foolish moment he thought _Thank Gods._ But his teacher too saw what was written plainly in those sad eyes, and instead of keeping him he stepped aside.

Patroclus stepped away again, and Achilles choked on vomit in his mouth. Chiron was letting him leave, and with his mother here, he _knew_ the chances. This would be like the last time, and once again he would have to wait years to apologize; if ever he got the chance.

Because no one could promise he would ever return

Patroclus ran, and Achilles took a step towards him, but his mother held a firm hand against his chest.

“Thetis, what are you doing on my mountain?” 

“You have kept my son from me long enough, I am here to take him home where he will be trained.” His mother replied.

“No,” Achilles choked. She couldn’t take him to the sea, to those dank caves deep beneath the tide. Patroclus would never find him there. He looked at his mother, and it was clear that was her reason for such a demand. “No I will not leave the mountain.”

“You are wasted here, Achilles. Chiron has taught you enough, it is time you return with me so that I can prepared you f-”

“NO!” Achilles shoved his mother’s hand from his chest. She stepped back, a look of betrayal was quickly replaced by a familiar ice. “I will not leave the mountain, there is much for me still to learn.”

“You stay because of the boy.” Thetis said. 

She wasn’t wrong, but he refused to confirm that truth. Instead he asked a question of his own, “What did you tell him?”

His mother smiled her wicked smile, the one that set her wholly apart from humanity. “Why do you ask, my love? I thought a Therapon shared everything.”

Achilles hadn’t felt a rage like this for his mother in so long; he knew that each choice she made was for him, and yet she always did so without ever stopping to see if it’s what he wanted. “What did you say to him? When I found you he could hardly breathe, he looked terrified. Tell me mother, I demand to know.”

Chiron moved toward them but did nothing to interrupt, instead he took a place behind Achilles’ shoulder; the presence of his mentor at his back bolstered his strength. His mother looked between them, then sneered. “I only told him that he was never meant to return, and that if it were not for my love for you, I would have sent him to Tartarus before he could destroy everything.”

Achilles froze, icy calm poured over his rage- it wasn’t unlike the way he felt with a weapon in his hand. “You threatened him.”

Thetis smiled.

“Did you tell him of the prophecy?” he asked, and then. “No, no of course you would not give him such vital information. You would rather poison him against me.”

Achilles stormed past his mother, towards where he’d last seen his Therapon. It was a familiar nightmare, running towards his ghost; He only prayed he’d catch him this time, that he wouldn’t be too late. 

His mother grabbed at his shoulder but he shrugged it off.

“Achilles you will not walk away from me.” She did not yell, but her voice echoed anyways.

Achilles steadfastly did not turn around.

“Thetis,” Chiron spoke softly. “I may have a solution…”

But he didn’t hear any more; Achilles was already running.

In the months since he began his tutelage, Achilles had learned many things. The safest paths through the forest, where every rock and tree lay within 10 miles of the cave, where to find food, and where to find shelter. But he found as he tore through the woods, praying the Fates wouldn’t take his heart away again, that the most important was how to track.

Patroclus knew these woods nearly as well as he did, and though his path was frantic, it was easy to follow.

So he did; for Achilles would follow Patroclus anywhere. 

He leapt over rocks and cut closely around trees. He took a right at the boulder that grew moss only on the northern side, and slid down the hill where rabbits hid their burrows. 

It was only a matter of minutes, but every one of them felt too long. 

And then he saw him, a dirty rainbow of curls hunched over himself along the river. Achilles slowed to a stop, only ten feet back, and finally allowed himself to think about what he would say.

He didn’t blink, afraid his Therapon would disappear if he did, but he thought about everything he needed to explain. And then he sent a prayer to the Gods that his friend would allow him to do so.

Slowly, Achilles moved to his Therapon. He made not a sound as he walked, too afraid Patroclus would send him away before he had the chance to apologize. It was a coward’s move, but if it worked, he would be okay being a coward just this once. 

He sat carefully, mirroring his friend’s position; with his knees hugged tightly to his chest, his arms folded across their tops, and his right cheek across them both. “Patroclus,” he whispered.

Curls rustled as Patroclus turned his head slowly to look at Achilles with a single eye. 

He’d been crying, and they were all red. It made Achilles’ heart twist painfully in his chest. His nose tickled, and he swore he would not cry- though he wanted nothing more than to do so. He had to be strong, because as much as it hurt when you hurt somebody else; you owed it to them to be strong when the fault was yours. To prove that your apology was serious.

“I have hurt you, I know this. I…” Achilles took a deep breath. “I lied, and that was unfair of me. For that I can only say that I am sorry; truly, and deeply sorry. I _promise_ I will not do it again.”

Patroclus didn’t respond, and Achilles didn’t expect him to. It was not his job to do anything to make this easier. He wanted to explain; why he hadn’t told his Therapon that the woman in his nightmares was his mother, why he’d held such a truth. What he knew of her choice to send him away. It was a lot, and he didn’t know if he had the words for it all, but he knew the important parts. And so he took a deep breath, and started as best he could.

“W-when she took you, when I was too late, it was as I told you. But I left some things out- about how she said she had done it for me, because of a prophecy. About how the Fates told her you would be the reason I did not reach Godhood.”

Patroclus looked like he’d been stabbed with this confession, but Achilles rushed to continue. The last thing he wanted was to hurt his Therapon more. “I told her that it was not her choice, and for many years our relationship was different. I... I do not know exactly how she thinks you will do such a thing, but there was something she did not consider when she made that choice for us last time.”

“What’s that?” Patroclus’ voice was rough, and though it sounded so broken, Achilles couldn’t help his smile. He was talking, and that meant he cared still. 

“That I am _Aristos Achaion,_ and you are the Walker. If anyone could change fate it would be us.” Achilles smiled, and Patroclus turned his face to look at him with both eyes. He was resting his left cheek on his arms, and in that moment the world fell away. 

“You are an impossibility, and though it is no excuse, you scared her. She said she felt it, when you came- and the Gods did not know what to make of you. But it does not matter if she understands, nor does it matter what prophecy she has been told. Because if even the Gods do not understand you, who are they to know what you are capable of?”

Achilles slipped his left hand, the one with ribbons that meant the world to him tied tightly around his wrist, and brushed a stray curl from Patroclus’ cheek. “I am sorry for the nightmares she caused, and the pain. But I can promise you this: We will change the story, Patroclus. Together. And she will not take you from me again.” He whispered.

“She was right, though. I-I can’t be the reason you don’t reach Olympus,” Patroclus confessed. He closed his eyes tight, and a tear slipped over the bridge of his nose. Achilles was many things, but he was not strong enough to resist wiping it away.

“Shh,” he said. “Do not say such things; We will have our happy ending, I promise you. You are where you belong: with me. _Always, Philtatos._ ”

_Oh gods,_ he thought, he was such an idiot. He was desperate to keep his heart with him on Pelion, and in that he’d somehow lost the ability to control his voice. His deepest, most secret truth had just slipped out. _I am such a fig head,_ he thought.

Achilles held his breath. And in response to his strangeness, those endless brown eyes opened once more. 

Achilles felt lost in them, just as he always had. His cheeks were warm, and he prayed his Therapon wouldn’t notice; wouldn’t ask. His hand shook where it rested against, Patroclus’ jaw and so he pulled it back into himself. It would be too obvious if he didn’t, he tucked it beneath his face once more.

“What’s that?” Patroclus asked, because of course he did.

Achilles had only moments before promised not to lie, and then his stupid mouth had betrayed him. He schooled his face, but his voice came out just a little too high. “Mmm?” 

_Forget it,_ he prayed. _Please just move on._

“Philtatos, what does it mean?” Patroclus asked. For all his wonderful qualities, he had an uncanny ability to latch onto something Achilles wasn’t ready to explain. And so, he prayed for forgiveness in the future, _One last little lie._ He justified it with a promise to explain it someday. Maybe. Then lied through his teeth.

“It is kind of like a name we call our closest companion.” His voice felt even higher, but Patroclus was smiling, and it was everything.

“Like Therapon?” He asked.

“Yes! L-like that. But it is only to be used in private.” Achilles was quick to cover his bases, he could not have his friend using such a word around others- or his secret would out.

“A private best friend nickname?” Patroclus sounded skeptical, Achilles nodded furiously. “Alright… It sounds a little weird, but I think I like it. Can I use it too, or is it just like your thing for me?”

Achilles knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. “Uhm, y-you can too. If you wish. But only in private.” He reminded him again; a little too forcefully.

Patroclus finally peeled his face from his arms, and with his smile still firmly in place, he knocked his shoulder against Achilles’ own. “Got it.”

Achilles felt a twinge in his stomach; guilt again, or maybe something else. But this lie, he argued, Patroclus would forgive; someday- he might even find it funny. It was that thought that reminded him of what had come before his mouth had run away with his heart, and left his mind behind to clean the mess. 

He sat up and turned to look seriously into Patroclus’ eyes. “Do you forgive me?”

Patroclus studied him a moment, then he lay his head down on Achilles’ shoulder. “Of course, Philtatos. I’ll always forgive you.”

Achilles closed his eyes; And as his heart and stomach traded places, and the weight lifted from his shoulders, he lay his head down upon the soft bed of curls with a smile. “Thank you, Patroclus.”

They sat for hours beside the river, saying next to nothing at all. And when the sun began its descent they made their way back to the cave. Along the trail Achilles watched Patroclus, in his rainbow chiton, as he told yet another story of his sister. He shone from within, like he carried the light of the heavens beneath his warm brown skin. Watching Patroclus, as he twirled beneath the trees, it was hard for Achilles to understand how he wasn’t a God.

“Achilles!”

“Mmm?” He realized Patroclus must have asked him something, and he’d missed it. “I am sorry. What did you say?”

“I said when we get home, I have something to show you.”

“Is that so?”

Patroclus nodded, his smile was almost shy. “I realized today that we haven’t really told each other everything... From when I was gone. And I think, if we want to avoid another day like today, and if we’re going to change the story, we should know everything. Get the whole picture, ya know?”

Achilles stopped in his tracks and turned to face Patroclus. He didn’t know what a picture was, but he understood the rest. “Does- are you... The journal?” 

He finally choked out something that resembled a sentence, and was grateful for it. That journal was the absolute bane of his existence, with its little symbols that held years worth of Patroclus’ life. He’d never peaked, but he’d wanted to. He didn’t know what would be in there, but he needed it all like he needed air to breathe. 

He swore to himself that whatever was written in those pages, he would take in stride. He wanted nothing more than to know each detail of Patroclus’ life, to learn more of the magic world of D.C. and of those who had cared for him when Achilles was far away.

Patroclus nodded, and Achilles beamed. How he’d found such a soul who could forgive him his mistakes, and find it within himself to give him such a gift in spite of his faults, he’d never know. He silently thanked the Gods, then threaded his fingers through Patroclus’ and pulled them into a run. “Faster, Patroclus!”

Patroclus’ airy laugh echoed through the forest; and as they ran home, Achilles drowned himself in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, we know teenage boys are hormonal disasters. But I have an HC for this AU that Achilles like always knew he loved Pat, and as that love changed from friends to more, and because of everything he just kinda doesn't handle it well? Idk. but I chose to write this Philtatos scene because in my head; Achilles is just so happy he's there, and that he let him explain, that he's talking without thinking. 
> 
> And he's 14, in the way all 14 year olds are- but even more so in a world where he'd be considered a man, he thinks he knows everything. And of this he is sure, though he'll learn later just how right he was but how much he didn't understand it, know that this confession and subsequent internal panic is on the naive spectrum of love;but still just as honest.
> 
> Y'all can pry gay-panic,soulmate, too-mature-and-deep-in-his-feels Achilles! from my cold dead fucking hands. <3 I love you all.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year on Pelion
> 
> Update #1 on: 2.12.21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey heyyyyyyyyy, I'm back with my first chapter of the day! This will cover their first year together.
> 
> Themes are maturing here, because they're teenagers. I was a shit show at 14/15 but I'm not going to be going into to much detail as things progress. I promise this eluding to stuff/ fade to black shit will only last until they're old enough for me not to require a jail sentence to write about it the way it be. So forgive me as chapter continue, you'll have to use your imagination a bit.
> 
> That being said, this doesn't have much in it. But I will be making dirty jokes and innuendos bc while I wont get graphic, I will 2000000% take advantage of them being horny monsters coming up. 
> 
> I'm realizing now this should have gone before the next few chapters but like eh? It's in advance. 
> 
> As usual, thank you for taking the time to come along this journey with me! I hope you enjoy, more chapters up throughout the day. My partner is working all weekend so I have fuck all to do besides read write and clean.
> 
> <3 Kenz

Summer became fall, and the leaves that hid them from the world, high up on Pelion, melted into colors so vibrant Patroclus wished he still had his camera. It was gold hair against the red hues of falling leaves, and mornings spent huddled close before the fire.

It was an Autumn of secrets shared; a time to work slowly through the journal and share stories both written and remembered of time without each other. The two boys would huddle up before bed each night for weeks and Patroclus would pick a story from his life; he’d paint the picture as clearly as he could, and act out each little piece. The rose quartz cave was a symphony of memory.

For each story he told, Achilles shared one of his own. Of his days exploring, and the foreign dignitaries he greeted. Of Thetis, and her weaving tales on the shore, of Peleus and his nightly dive into Grecian history. They took turns sharing everything, of middle school and bullies, of heroes and war; but there was one thing neither shared, one thing they danced around.

It was lucky for Patroclus that Achilles couldn’t read his words, it allowed him to hold certain things back. Things like that Halloween party, and his crush on Brett; a boy who was blonde enough to hang his hopes on but never held a candle to the one sitting next to him. He swore he’d tell him, he had too. On a chrisp night sometime close to when he normally would have been celebrating Thanksgiving, Patroclus was swept up in watching the prince run a delicate finger across his words and found himself promising to teach him. 

Until that time he found he wasn’t worried when Achilles snuck the journal out on his own to look at the pictures. Achilles was awed by them; those of his family and his world. It wasn’t that he hadn’t believed him before, but Patroclus knew that seeing something- especially something such as a colored photo- only solidified it more. The first time he caught the prince pouring over the journal in secret was a night when he’d fallen asleep early. The fire was low in the cave, light bouncing off the crystal walls and playing shapes across the prince’s face. He’d cracked his eyes open when he heard whispers, but what he found was not his Therapon speaking to their teacher.

From the shade of his lashes, Patroclus watched as Achilles traced a single finger over the faces of his family. They were all there, decked out in rainbows at pride with smiles on their faces. Achilles by contrast looked almost sad; humbled. Patroclus wanted to reach for him, tell him he’d made his choice and that it was okay, but he was paralyzed by Achilles’ words. “Thank you,” his voice swam with profound reverence. “For allowing him to return to me. I promise I will always keep him safe for you, your sacrifice will not be in vain.” Then the prince kissed the tip of his fingers and pressed them to the hearts of his family on the page, and closed the book.

Patroclus was overcome by the private intimacy he’d witnessed, and instead of ruining it, he pretended to sleep. Achilles carefully slid the black leather tome beneath the pillows and rolled onto his side to look at Patroclus. They watched each other for a long moment, though Achilles didn’t know. And then it happened. 

Achilles’ eyes darted to the mouth of the cave, as if to make sure he was alone, and then slowly he turned his emerald gaze back to Patroclus. He smiled, and the look was soft; then he lifted his hand slowly and ghosted a single finger across the curls behind Patroclus’ left ear- the ones that never did as they were told. “Philtatos,” he whispered. And it was this; his stomach bursting with the beating wings of a thousand butterflies, his breath caught in his throat. And it was this; the wave of peace, of total rightness that washed through him and dragged him back into sleep with a small smile of his own on his face.

Neither of them admitted to what they’d done that night the next day, or the one after that. And when it happened again, and again, Patroclus stayed silent. They were his, those moments; to cherish in a way he knew Achilles wouldn’t understand. He knew it was only an act of deep friendship, but it felt like more, and he was selfish for it. He let his hair grow long, and when he caught Achilles staring at the curl behind his ear, he pretended he didn’t notice. Those moments in the dark, were _everything,_ and if they were all he’d ever get from the prince, that would be okay too.

The leaves rolled from the trees, a final storm blowing those hangers on across the clearing and with that Pelion took on a different quality. It was almost haunting in the mornings, how the fog seeped through the trees. Sound bounced off the mist, everything felt louder somehow. The big game had all gone too nest, and so Patroclus, Achilles, and Chiron lived off what they had collected. 

They spent their days in the cave, huddled beneath furs and learning all they could about healing. When Chiron spoke of surgery Patroclus found himself horrified and awed in equal measure. It was incredible, what they could do with so little and yet, knowing what he did from Grey’s Anatomy and his mother, he saw what was lacking. He wished, not for the first time, that he had access to some of the books they’d had back home. He was far too young for a degree, but he thought maybe, here where he was considered a man, he could become a healer someday.

Patroclus taught the centaur all he knew of germs, of basic medicine; knowledge he’d acquired from different sources. Chiron listened with rapt attention, and never once made Patroclus feel as though he was simply humoring him. Together they took old recipes for healing, and turned them into salves and tonics more powerful than they had been before; the simple act of understanding that infection didn’t just happen, changed much for Chiron. They practiced bandaging one anther, and creating splints from natural objects. Chiron taught them rudimentary surgery, and smiled when Patroclus showed him how quickly and thoroughly he could stitch the skin of fruits and hide back together.

Morning medical training brought Patroclus more than just joy. With each meticulous note he scribbled down, he felt purpose; hope. _This_ was how he would save Achilles when the time came. If he could not keep his Therapon form war, he would be there every time to put him back together; he swore it to himself.

Snow fell and Patroclus taught Achilles how to make snowmen, snow angels, and all the good things that came with that wonderland. They built an igloo, small and lopsided in the middle of the clearing as if they didn’t have access to a warm cave. But there was something to be said for a space that was entirely their own.

Inside they played music and sang, wrote silly songs of useless heroes and, in Patroclus’ favorite turn of events, remixes. He found out that Achilles had the skill to replicate whatever he sang with nearly perfect pitch, and so Patroclus would hum a tune and the prince would play it back across the strings of his lyer. He smiled a secret smile each time the ancient instrument played Lady Gaga and Queen.

Thetis still came, each week beginning with one of her eerie silence-inducing visits. She waited along the treeline for Achilles, and though Patroclus never ventured closer than the mouth of the cave, he would watch the goddess- and the goddess would watch back. There was something there between them, hatred and fear yes, but a promise too; That whoever was with Achilles would guard him, and return him to the other whole and sound. Achilles would wave goodbye and follow his mother into the woods, and when his back was turned Patroclus would nod once to Thetis, _bring him back_. Thetis would merely blink at him slowly, but somehow even that felt like a confirmation.

When Achilles would leave for hours, Patroclus and Chiron would fall headfirst into advanced healing. What started as a way to distract him from worry, became an accelerated program. Chiron taught him far more than he’d bring up to Achilles, but neither felt bad. It was well understood the prince’s interest in such things wasn’t as great as his Therapon.

It was on a day such as this, while Chrion and Patoclus were crushing roots with a mortar and pestle to create a pain reliever, that the centaur spoke. “How do you kill the child of a god, who has not yet reached Olympus?”

The mortar and pestle slipped from Patroclus’ numb finger, landing upon the earth with a thud and scattering the ginger at his feet. His heart had stopped at those words, so apropos of nothing, and his head snapped to his teacher. Chiron hadn’t so much as looked up from where he was grinding his own root. “ _What?_ ” Patroclus croaked. _Where is this coming from? What does he know?_

Chiron continued his rhythmic grinding, “How do you do it?”

“I-I don’t know.” 

Chiron looked up at Patroclus, his face was curious as he slowly set the stone bowl on the table. He considered his student for a long moment. “I think that you have a fair idea.”

There was no malice in his tone, but something was heavy. This was important, and Patroclus needed to find why. His heart was hammering and his brow felt sweaty even through the chill that snaked around the fur draped at the cave mouth. “I-I, weakness. Every hero has a weakness.” He finally said, thinking of an image he’d seen long ago of a statue with an arrow in its heel.

Chiron nodded. “As his Therapon, it is your duty to protect his weakness as best you can. While I am glad to teach you how to heal injuries, do not think I have not noticed the way you pour over your studies. There is more there, I think, than a thirst for knowledge.”

Patroclus opened his mouth, but all that came out was a choking noise. His eyes started to blur, and Chiron melted around the edges. He was right, that as much as he loved to learn such things, there was another motive. He couldn’t do more than stare helplessly at his mentor.

Chiron lifted a giant hand from his lap and placed it on Patroclus’ shoulder. It grounded him; centered him, and he took a deep breath. “I do not wish to know what you know, nor would I ask you to reveal it. But understand that you are not alone, and should I possess the knowledge you need, to prepare you for whatever it is you plan to circumvent, do not hesitate to ask. We will work on it in private, and hopefully you will find the peace in your mind you pretend to feel.”

Tears slipped silently down his face, and Patroclus had to try twice to say two simple words, “Thank you.”

Chiron nodded again, and lifted his free hand to wipe at the tears on his cheek. “But know, young walker, that a hero rarely has one weakness. Do not let your knowledge of what is to come blind you from what is happening now. You could miss something important if you do.” He gave him a look that Patroclus couldn’t decipher, and it made him nervous. _What am I missing?_ He wanted to ask, if Chiron had noticed another weakness he needed to know of it, so that he could find a way to heal it if ever it was used against his prince.

He didn’t get a chance to ask, because Chiron changed the topic once more in that way of his; as if he hadn’t just rocked Patroclus’ whole world. As much as it angered him, that Chiron would place such fear in his heart, he was grateful because he knew his mentor only did it to challenge him- to make sure he was ready for what came next. Chiron dropped his hand and leaned back, scooping his bowl from the table and beginning his rhythmic crushing of roots. He didn’t look up again when he said, “Tomorrow I think you should begin training with weapons, Achilles will teach you. It is important I think; and Please grab your ginger from the ground, it is not nearly ready.”

Patroclus stared at him for a long moment, before doing as he was asked. He slipped from his stool to crawl around and gather as much of the crushed root as he could. Placing the fragrant pieces back into his mortar, he grabbed the pestle and began to grind as his mind raced. _I’ve been here for months, and he didn’t make me hunt. Why do I have to fight?_ and then _I guess learning to actually throw a punch would be useful,_ and _A spear would be cool too, I guess._

Achilles returned sometime later smelling of sea and winter; and when he smiled as he sat next to Patroclus, Chiron looked up from his stew and said, “Tomorrow you begin training him. I think the spear would be best.”

Achilles bounced up and down, like a kid on their birthday, but all he said was, “Cool.” 

Winter bled into spring, and the trees were green again. Animals ran through the forest, celebrating new birth and a type of freedom Patroclus could feel in his bones. 

Achilles trained him in the afternoons, when the sun was at its highest. He taught Patroclus how to use a spear, to throw and defend himself with a weapon he’d crafted by his own hands. Their sessions were hard, and Patroclus spent most evenings too tired to move. But it was worth it, his body felt stronger than it ever had and new muscles cut lines across the planes of his torso. 

He was getting better and it made him proud, even though he knew he’d never hold a flame to his Therapon. There was joy in their training, in the way Achilles would light up when he did something well. Everytime the spear struck it’s target or he blocked a strike, he would beam at Patroclus- which he found rude for a number of reasons. Primarily that each time the prince looked at him like that he’d become distracted, and it would end the same: Patroclus flat on the grass breathing heavily while Achilles loomed over him with a smirk. It was almost like he knew, but there was no way, he’d done everything to make sure his prince had no idea how he felt.

Achilles would make a comment, always something innocent that made Patroclus’ head whirl. At some point his mind had fallen so deeply in the gutter, that he feared he’d become its new slumlord.

“Do you ever grow tired of ending up on your back before me?” He laughed, reaching out a hand. Patroclus would blush furiously and stutter out some nonsense comeback, the effectiveness of his insults lost to nerves and time.

“No, Patroclus. Grip the shaft here or you’ll lose it if you hold it too loose, and what good will it be then?” Patroclus wanted to die.

When training was over, he’d take one look at his Therapon and make up a reason to leave the clearing alone. Then run deep into the forest to relieve the stress of being so close to something that made his knees weak, something he knew he couldn’t have. 

He’d return just as flushed as he’d been when he left, though calm enough to sleep beside the prince that night. And every. _Damn._ time, Achilles would give him a wide eyed look then find something to fiddle with; his back to Patroclus. Then Chiron would give him a _look._

It was a humiliating but necessary ritual, because hormones were a bitch. He wanted to scream “I’m a fucking teenager, what do you expect when I have to look at _that_ every day?!” but he didn’t. Instead he’d turn crimson and run to his journal.

It was one of those things no one ever talked about out loud, and when Achilles too would disappear only to return unable to make eye contact, the denizens of the rose quartz cave ignored it. It was like the soft touches to curls by the light of the fire, or the way they’d sometimes wake up tangled together beneath the furs. It was _nothing,_ and yet it was...

The days grew longer, and with it the Grecian summer was fast approaching. Summer meant two things to Patroclus; first, that he’d been gone for nearly a year. He thought of his family each day, and still talked to Bri alone in the woods. He wrote stories in his journal for her to read should he ever return, though he kept his most private thoughts in his head. Achilles still practiced reading it, and it meant that his thoughts weren’t as safe as they’d once been there. If he tried even a little, it was probably obvious to see through the words, but Patroclus was fine pretending he’d hid it well enough. 

The second thing summer brought were birthdays, both boys would turn 15 before the air turned cold once more. Knowing that Achilles’ came first, had Patroclus worried a month in advance. His 14th birthday had been everything, and he wanted to do something just as special for his Therapon. When the blond fell asleep in the early hours of june mornings, Patroclus would slip from their bed to sit by the fire and work on his gift. It wouldn’t be much, but he prayed Achilles would like it when the time came.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Update #2: 2.12.21
> 
> Bad jokes  
> Hormones  
> Soft bois  
> Angst  
> More Angst
> 
> Oooooops?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright folks, few things:
> 
> 1: the PoV's are rotating in this chapter, I've marked them accordingly. After going over my (literally)15 page planning timeline I decided that this would begin rotating more in the second half (we are balls deep in that second half now). Because the story I want to tell needs Achilles' POV more than I had originally expected. It won't be always, but don't be surprised moving forward if he pops up more often.
> 
> 2: When I wrote the Philtatos scene a few chapters back, I had planned something- and one of you Genius' saw it coming. So, GlimmerOfGold- my friend, this particular phitatos awkard bit is deidated to you. I wish you could see my original notes, because it's a set of weirdly drawn facial expressions with notes.
> 
> Honestly? I'm just post it on tumblr bc it made me giggle (I'm a garbage artist so be warned). Tumblr is:  
> ruhndanaantrash
> 
> If you feel like talking to me/ yelling at me there. 
> 
> <3 Kenz

**Patroclus:**

Achilles turning 15 brought with it an intrusion to their little world. Patroclus had woken early to pluck the best figs from a tree not far from camp when he heard them coming up the mountain. He ran back to the cave, only to find Chiron and Achilles sitting beside the fire as though nothing was different. 

He was flushed, but before he could say anything Chiron said, “So they are here, then?”

Patroclus nodded. “Why?” Why had soldiers come now? Was it already time to go? He walked up to the fire, basket of figs banging against his thighs, and took a heavy seat next to Achilles; this was _not_ what he’d planned.

“Father always loved my birthday,” the prince said with a sardonic smile, then gestured at the basket. “Those for me?”

“Huh?” Patroclus looked down, then bit his lip. “Uh, yeah. Birthday breakfast or whatever. It’s not bacon but it seemed right.”

Achilles plucked a fig from the top of the pile, and slipped it between rosey lips. He let out a positively unholy noise that made Patroclus shift on the log as discreetly as possible. His mouth felt dry as he watched a little juice run down Achilles’ chin. _This is getting worse,_ he thought; and yet, he did nothing to distance himself. He wanted to wipe it away, but he didn’t. Instead he did his best to breathe as the blonde wiped the dribble from his chin with a careless thumb, and sucked it into his mouth.

_Dead puppies._

_Toe fungus._

_Republicans._

_Car crash victims_

Patroclus chanted the list of things that made him gag on a normal day, and it did nothing.

Achilles reached back into the basket to retrieve a large handful of purple fruit, and then with no preamble tossed them in the air one after another. It was funny, how sharp the memory was of their first dinner together. Patroclus watched the fruit circle over and over, neverending. Achilles looked away from his hands to wink at him, because he was an asshole. “Toss me another.”

Patroclus did. And then another, and another after that. The prince was juggling 15 figs by the time he was done, all the while smiling like an idiot and checking to make sure Patroclus never looked away. 

One at a time he caught them, and set them in his lap, until he was down to only one. Achilles looked at him with piercing green eyes, and leaned in. “I told you once I would get better,” He laughed.

Patroclus gulped audibly and nodded. “Definitely better.” His voice cracked, because of course it did, and his cheeks were on fire. _Bri, I swear to gods_ he thought. On the long list of things he found attractive, never once had it been juggling. He was terrified of clowns and yet here he was, half ready to run to the woods because the birthday idiot could handle a couple fruit. _Fuck._

He was about to get up, to find some space, maybe go to the river and drown himself when Achilles lifted the remaining fig. “Here, since you did all the hard work.” He said, pressed the fruit to Patroclus’ lips.

He opened his mouth slowly and Achilles set the fruit on his tongue; a throat cleared across the fire and both boys jumped. Patroclus looked at Chiron with wide eyes, chewing the fig not unlike a cow, and talking through the mouthful. “Thanks dude,” he said nodding. He looked insane. “Totes great, my man,” he said with a painful swallow.

Chiron was clearly amused, though Achilles looked at him like he’d just taken off all his clothes, and started running around the clearing with a bucket on his head. Patroclus needed a minute, and so he stood up and awkwardly saluted his companions. “I’ma just,” he hitched a thumb at the cave. “Brb Brotatos-”

“Bro what now?” Achilles asked, mostly to himself. Chiron was still watching him across the fire, and Patroclus’s mouth ran away from him.

“You don’t like it? It’s like Bro, but also like Philtatos. Brotatos, ya know?” His voice was too high, and he talked as he backed towards the cave.

Achilles started choking on a fig; rapidly turning an alarming shade of purple. And Chiron had frozen with his own fruit an inch before his mouth.

“What did you-” Chiron started, but Achilles coughed louder. It was almost obnoxious, but a good sign. Coughing like that meant he’d swallowed the obstruction.

“I said-”

“NOTHING. He said, nothing. Just strange walker things.” Achilles spat, waving his arms between coughs, and _that’s_ when Patroclus remembered: _I wasn’t supposed to say that._

He looked at the prince with an apologetic wince, only to find the blonde looking frantically between him and Chiron with wide eyes and pale skin.

Chiron smiled, and there was something almost evil about it. “Really? I could have sworn I heard him call you Phi-”

A horn blared through the clearing and all three heads snapped to it. There, astride 6 gigantic horses, were members of the Phthian royal guard. Each of the messengers carried a trunk behind themselves, and saddle bags full to the brim. It was so strange seeing people after so long, the conversation was forgotten. 

Achilles scrambled to his feet, brushing his messy waves from his face and straightening his chiton as the guards dismounted and bowed as one. 

Escape forgotten, Patroclus took a spot next to Achilles and Chiron, and together they waited for the messengers to rise. They did not. After a moment, Chiron cleared his throat and Achilles shot him a look before his brows rose, “Oh right. Yes thank you, you may rise.” He did his best to sound princely, but there was still a fevered pitch to his voice.

“Fig head,” Chiron said low enough for only them to hear. Patroclus snorted, and Achilles fired an elbow at his middle that sent him to his knees in a fit of pained laughter.

A tall handsome man, no more than 18, with sandy brown hair and stubble stepped forward. His legs were entirely muscle, and shone olive in the sun. The wind whipped his chiton about his thighs, and Patroclus stood with a hard swallow. The messenger addressed Achilles, though his eyes darted to Patroclus more than once. 

“Your highness, we are here on behalf of your father, the king. He wished to send his congratulations on your 15th birthday, and give you these.” The messenger gestured behind him, and only then did Patroclus realize each of the bags were for Achilles. The gift he’d spent a month working on paled in comparison, and he hadn’t even seen what they held; but he did his best not to worry, it wasn’t a competition.

“Please send him my dearest thanks, and to you all for bringing them such a long way.” Achilles nodded, and the gesture was humble and honest.

The messenger flashed a smile of pearly white teeth, then turned that look on Patroclus. He had blue eyes, and Patroclus’ heart tripped over itself when the man said. “Would you mind terribly, helping me take the load from my horse?” 

Patroclus was nodding his head and moving before he realized, and the man’s smile grew. “I can totally take your load- I mean the load- I mean, yes. Hi. I’m Patroclus, and I swear I can normally make words happen.”

“Patroclus,” _two syllables, not three, but it’s fine because he’s pretty._ “I am Alexander. Thank you for helping me, the ride up the mountain was just so very, hard.”

_Was he serious?_ Patroclus nearly choked on his own spit. He had no doubt Alexander could’ve unpacked the horse himself, but he wasn’t going to complain. He’d been so frustrated, and harmless flirting with a stranger was helping to calm his nerves a bit. Patroclus gave him his most charming smile and placed a bold hand along a muscled bicep. “It’s not a problem.”

The other guards were unpacking their gifts with ease, and as Patroclus and Alexander unbuckled the trunk, familiar gold hands grabbed the handles on either side and bodily lifted it from the rear. Achilles smiled, but there was something else there too as he looked at the guard. 

He held the large trunk under one arm, and used his other hand to lift the lid slightly. “Silk, Alexander? I can see how such a trunk would be difficult to carry.”

Alexander flushed, and looked down at the ground. “I am sorry, your highness. Please allow me to carry it for you.” He reached forward, but Achilles danced away with a wicked smile.

“It is no problem, truly. You had a long journey. Just let me get my _Therapon_ out of your hair, and you will be on your way soon enough.” Though he was still smiling, he grabbed Patroclus’ arm a little tight and practically dragged him back to the fire where they found Chiron laughing. 

“That was fucking rude,” Patroclus hissed at Achilles, who simply shrugged and dropped the trunk before their log. He took a seat, and swung his naked feet up onto the trunk, with a _thunk, thunk_ crossing them at the ankles.

Chiron laughed harder, and Patroclus whirled on him to whisper yell. “What the hell is so damn funny?”

Chiron held up his hands before him, and did his best to stop laughing as he looked between them. “Nothing at all,” he said too innocently, then backed away to speak to the messengers. As he turned, Patroclus swore he heard him say “ _Silks, Alexander_ ” under his breath. He shook it off, and turned back to Achilles who was eating figs as messengers created a pile of gifts at his feet.

“What?” The prince asked.

“Nothing.” Patroclus growled. He sat down next to his Therapon, though he left a healthy, irritated distance. 

Achilles closed it, and knocked their shoulders together as Alexander carried a fine bow up to the pile and set it before the prince with a flourish. He didn’t make eye contact again, and Patroclus deflated a little. “Thank you, Alexander.” Achilles said.

Alexander bowed again then hurried away; Patroclus couldn’t hold back his sigh.

“What was that for?” Achilles said, while pilfering through what gifts he could see.

“Hmm?”

“Your little-” Achilles copied his sigh, making it more dramatic than its predecessor. Patroclus shoved him.

“First of all, i do _not_ sound like that, and second. Alexander was a fucking snack.”

“I am a snack.” Achilles grumbled.

“Do you even know what that means?” Patroclus laughed. The prince just glared at him, and he laughed harder. 

Achilles tackled him to the ground, and when he was pinned beneath the prince the laughter died in his throat. Achilles bent in close and said in a voice far too serious for the statement. “I am a snack. _Say it.”_

Patroclus suddenly couldn’t breathe, this whole thing was ridiculous. But he said, “Fine. You’re a snack Achilles, a whole damn entree. Now get the fuck off me, I can’t breathe.”

Achilles beamed and rolled off him, offering a hand to haul him to his feet. The prince was chuffed, and the whole scenario, while ridiculous, had been the closest Patroclus had ever come to admitting his feelings. It blossomed in his chest, and his blood caught fire. Even though Achilles had no idea what he’d said, the fact that he hadn’t been rejected, _burned_. 

Alexander forgotten, Patroclus took a seat next to his companion and helped him tear through the gifts from the palace.

When they’d sorted the gifts into piles of things to be repurposed, and things of use, Patroclus led Achilles to the secret spot he’d taken him on his own birthday the year before. He’d packed a picnic as well, and carefully put his own gift in the bottom of the bag.

Achilles was radiating joy as they set up their little camp, and when the fruit and dried meats were laid out. Patroclus grabbed his present, and held it out to Achilles. “It’s not much, but we’re on a mountain and I’m kind of poor so like, if you hate it it’s fine but… yeah.”

Achilles looked down at the proffered bundle, and took it gingerly; his fingers grazing a trail of fire along Patroclus’ own. “Thank you,” he said like he meant it. Though he hadn’t even looked at what lay inside.

“Just, open it.” Patroclus said, and ducked his head. His heart was loud in his ears, and his cheeks were so warm he swore he could fry an egg on them.

With careful hands, Achilles peeled back the fabric to reveal his gift. When he gasped, Patroclus peaked at him from beneath his lashes. Achilles had this _look_ on his face, one he’d only seen in the quiet moments when he was supposed to be sleeping. It was peaceful, and warm. It was monumental in its softness, and he slowly looked up to lock eyes on Patroclus. “Philtatos this is...” He whispered and shook his head.

The prince looked back down and picked up the small wooden charm strung on a thin robe of braided leather. It was a necklace, long enough to hide beneath his chiton, and sturdy enough to last through a fight. Patroclus had spent hours carving the delicate details into sturdy fir. It was an unforgiving wood, but Chiron had taught him that it’s strength was why it was used for the important things.

“It is perfect, Patroclus.” Achilles said softly. It was far from it, but Patroclus appreciated the lie. He’d carved the disk to look like a drachma, but in the place of the fates he’d outlined their faces together. Achilles turned it over, and traced his finger along the word Patroclus had etched there.

_Always._

He’d written it in English, and watched with a smile that warmed his insides as Achilles mouthed the word. He was truly excellent when it came to learning his language, far better than Patroclus had been learning Greek.

Achilles pulled the leather chord over his head, and smiled as he looked at where the pendant hung just over his heart. “This is my favorite gift, thank you so much for making this day wonderful.”

Patroclus nodded, because what else could he do? He was just thankful he could bring his best friend such joy with something so simple, and that his heart would wear something more of his- even if the prince never knew all that he meant by it.

Achilles leaned over, and hugged Patroclus deeply where they sat. Gold waves swallowed his face, and where his nose rested just between shoulder and head, Patroclus couldn’t help the way he took a deep breath; pomegranate, sea, and Achilles. _Home_...

Achilles pulled back, and for a long moment the boys froze, scant inches between them. Green eyes darted between Patroclus’... searching. When they slid to his mouth, he sucked in a sharp breath. _Did he just?_ There was no way.

Achilles looked back up to his eyes slowly, and neither of them breathed. 

Patroclus looked to Achilles’ own mouth then back up; then down again…

Later, he’d blame hormones. He’d blame blind faith in his heart instead of his head. He’d blame being caught up in the moment. He’d blame himself for his own mistake, but in that quiet space he couldn’t help himself.

Patroclus’ eyes slipped closed, and he leaned forward slowly. He gave Achilles ample time to pull away, but the Prince stayed frozen. And as his lips brushed lightly against those of his Therapon, Patroclus felt the world right itself. 

The kiss was soft, smooth; so unlike the first time. It was everything movies and books said it would be, and then it was nothing.

Achilles ripped himself away from Patroclus, standing five feet from him in the blink of an eye. 

Patroclus’ stomach fell through the earth, and his heart seized painfully. “ _Oh gods,”_ he croaked. _What have I done?_

Achilles looked at him with wild eyes, his chest rising and falling like he’d run a marathon. Patroclus scrambled to his knees. “Achilles, I- I’m so sorry. I don’t kn-”

Achilles held up a single shaking hand; he still hadn’t blinked. “Stop.”

One word.

A command.

Patroclus froze. 

Achilles watched him for a long moment, and then without another word he turned on his heel, and ran…

“Oh.” Patroclus whispered to the secret lake as his heart split in two.

Something wet hit his knees and only then did he realize he was crying.

His stomach twisted painfully, and Patroclus gagged.

_Is this what dying feels like?_

_____________________________________________________

**Achilles:**

He ran and ran, until he reached the river. He ran until he couldn’t breathe, and only there beneath the majesty of the falls, did Achilles fall to his knees.

He felt sick. This was all wrong.

He held tight to the promise that hung around his neck, and screamed at the river. “MOTHER!”

His voice cracked; it tasted like iron. 

He screamed again. “MOTH-”

“Achilles.” Thetis stood before him, as though she’d been there all along. Her dress was the color of ice, and she stared at her son with dark unforgiving eyes where he knelt at her feet. “My love, what is it?”

His mother sank to her own knees, and cradled his face with a tenderness she rarely showed. Her fingers were cold on his cheeks, and icy thumbs wiped at the tears that fell. “What happened? Was it that boy?” She was angry for his hurt, but Achilles shook his head. He couldn’t have his mother getting the wrong idea.

“Then what, Achilles you must speak. What is wrong, how can I help you?” Thetis sounded desperate.

Achilles swallowed.

“D-do you see me here?” He whispered, and it sounded broken to his own ears.

Thetis looked confused.

“Do you watch me here, on the mountain?” He asked, the desperation he felt bleeding into every choked word.

Cold hands fell away, and Thetis stood. Her earlier worry had faded, and in its place Achilles could only find angry skepticism.

“No.” She said.

“Do you swear?” he pleaded.

His mother looked angrier than ever, but she gave a single tight nod. “Is that all?”

Before Achilles could answer, his mother was gone. 

_“No.”_ He whispered to the river. Such a simple word upon which his deepest desires and most careful secrets found a foundation. 

His mother could hear him when he called, but could not see him here. He was _free,_ from her opinion, from her plans. No matter what he did while here on Pelion, his mother could not punish Patroclus. He wouldn’t risk the life of his most beloved companion by loving him as he wished; But here? Here they were a secret; One that had the power to give him everything he wished, and keep his Therapon safe from his mother’s wild attempts to fight a prophecy.

Achilles wondered if the Fates too, were blind to Pelion. He prayed they were.

Joy and hope so pure and bright filled the space left hollow in the aftermath of his fear, and Achilles rose. He had to find Patroclus- he had to explain. But when he returned to their secret lake, the picnic was packed away.

A niggling sense of panic began, but Achilles refused to give in. Patroclus was not gone, not like this. _He cannot be._ He’d be at the cave, and he’d listen while Achilles told him just how much he loved him, how he only thought of Patroclus with every breath.

Achilles Piledes ran to the quartz cave faster than he’d ever run in his life. When he saw that the fire was burning, and next to it was the pack Patroclus had brought that day, he let out a deep breath. Patroclus was safe inside, and the possibilities put a hop in his step.

Achilles was two feet from the entrance when Chiron emerged from the shadows, “Achilles.” He whispered.

Achilles looked at him impatiently, “Yes?”

“Sometimes, that which is most worth it will take time. Do not lose hope.” The centaur said, then walked back into the clearing without another word.

Achilles shrugged off his words, and walked into the cave- only to find Patroclus asleep already.

He wanted to wake him, but when he saw the puffiness of his eyes, the way he curled in on himself as he breathed deep in his sleep, Achilles understood. He had hurt him today, and though the problem was one that could be easily remedied, he thought his Therapon deserved sleep. He wouldn’t be selfish with Patroclus, he couldn’t be. He would assuage his own guilt in the morning, with an apology, and everything would be okay.

He tucked the curl that never did as it was told behind Patroclus’ left ear, and laid down beside him. “I am sorry, but I will fix this.” He whispered.

Patroclus rolled away from him in his sleep, and Achilles felt that same hollow feeling he felt when he’d told him to stop.

_It was a misunderstanding,_ Achilles argued with himself. But the fact remained; as far as Patroclus was concerned, he had rejected him. The pain of knowing the hurt he caused was crippling. He rolled to face Patroclus’ back, and lifted a hand. He couldn’t wait, _this_ couldn’t wait. But the curly haired dream in front of him let out a quiet whimper, and Achilles dropped his hand.

It wasn’t fair of him to demand forgiveness now, he could only try in the morning. And he would, for as long as it took he would fight for Patroclus. Because that is what one did for the ones they loved.

There was a cavern between them, and he’d carved it. Achilles prayed to the gods that he could fix what he broke. 

But for now, he would let Patroclus sleep.

__________________________________________________

**Patroclus:**

He heard Achilles come in the cave, and closed his eyes. It was all he could do to regulate his breathing, and he prayed the prince would fall for it. 

He only needed a little time, and then Achilles would fall into his typically deep sleep and Patroclus would be free to hurt in silence once more.

The bed dipped below him, and a soft hand ghosted over the curl behind his ear. That simple touch, barely there, was enough to contract the muscles in his stomach so hard he swore his ribs were cracking. But he made no sound.

“I am sorry, but I will fix this.” Achilles whispered, and the guilt could have swallowed Patroclus alive.

Of course Achilles thought it was his fault, he wasn’t interested and as much as that hurt it wasn’t as though that was something he could change. He was most likely straight, and Patroclus had terrified him by coming on to him in such a way.

He couldn’t stand Achilles’ breath on his face, so he rolled over to face the wall where he could wipe his eyes in peace.

He’d broken them, he knew it. The fact was undeniable, and yet the prince thought _he_ should apologize? Patroclus let silent tears slip down the bridge of his nose, and though the pain was horrid; it was familiar.

In the morning he would wake up, he would take responsibility for his actions, and he would never do something so reckless again. It didn’t change why he was here, he still had a job to do. Protecting his best friend, loving his best friend, it would be enough… It had to be.

The bed shifted again, as Achilles moved slightly closer to his back, and the thought of him being so close was still too fresh. Patroclus couldn’t hold back the whimper that came on the back of new tears, he only prayed Achilles would think he was dreaming.

_Tomorrow,_ he thought. Tomorrow I’ll fix what I broke.

His heart would heal with time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alexander is literally not anyone real, I made him up and briefly considered naming him Adonis but then didn't. Just needed a thirst trap to really get the hormones in overdrive.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SOMETHING HAPPENED THIS IS THE REAL CH 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there was something wrong with my formatting and the original chapter 27 got deleted. This is an update and I'm goig to go back an double check this is right. I'm so sorry for any confusion and for any and all mistakes in this chapter <3

Patroclus woke alone.

He wasn’t surprised to find that his Therapon hadn’t wanted to hang around in the morning, he’d made a mess of AChilles’ birthday- of their friendship. His heart _hurt_ but he knew what he needed to do. Today would be uncomfortable, as would the days yet to come; But he prayed that with time, it would become easier for them both to find their normal.

He stood on shaky legs, and retrieved his rainbow chiton. The color and the familiarity would help him feel more alive today; lend him Phillips family strength and pride to do what he needed. He was robotic as he dressed, hollow; if it weren’t for the pain in his head and chest, he would be numb. It sounded lovely, that blankness.

Patroclus took a few steps toward the cave mouth, and then paused as he looked out over the clearing. Chiron was laying next to the fire, upon which a boar was roasting. Normally, such a thing would have brought him joy but the smell made his stomach turn to acid. His eyes slid to where Achilles sat, head in his hands, and that hole in his chest opened further. Patroclus wondered if he looked down, would he be able to see straight through himself?

He tripped over his next step, arms wrapped tightly across his middle- like doing so would keep his insides where they belonged; two heads snapped his direction, but he only had eyes for one.

Achilles smiled at him, that stupid sheepish grin. Instead of butterflies, Patroclus tasted acid again, and his nose tickled. Tears were coming, and crying in front of his Therapon for this was not something he could do. Apologies could wait, he needed just a _little_ more time, and then he’d fix this. He swore it.

Patroclus didn’t step toward the fire, instead he turned over himself and skirted along the cave. Three steps, three bumbling steps were all he managed at a walk before he was running blindly into the woods. 

“Patroclus!” Achilles yelled, but he didn’t turn around.

Every step he took, every branch that whipped at his face and arms, every rock that tore through his feet was a reminder; _weak._ His father’s ghost loved these moments.

He hated himself for running, but he did not stop. He couldn’t. He just needed a fucking minute, and after everything it had done, after everything it had taken, the universe could give him that. It _owed_ him.

It was of no use. For as fast as Patroclus ran, _Aristos Achaion_ would always be faster. It was only a couple hundred yeards before he heard it, footsteps dogging his; and then they were there, keeping time with his frantic pace. In his peripheral he could see gold waves, he could hear Achilles’ measured breaths, but he couldn’t stop. Stopping meant facing everything, and it was too damn soon.

Eventually he tired; or at least that’s what he told himself. The reality was he’d tripped over a root and gone flying down an embankment, Achilles screaming his name the entire time. His elbows and knees burned, and there was a cut above his right brow that bled down his temple. Patroclus closed his eyes hard, and hoped Achilles would think the tears were because of the fall.

“Patroclus, Gods. Are you okay?” Achilles slid down next to him, running hands over his skin that burned like a brand everywhere they touched. 

Patroclus shoved himself away, with a hoarse cry. “Don’t fucking touch me!” He scrambled his bloody knees against his chest, and wrapped his arms protectively around them. He made himself small enough to match the broken plea. He repeated, “Don’t touch me, _please.”_

Achilles was quiet for a moment, and though Patroclus didn’t look he could feel those emerald eyes on him. Finally, in a froggy voice that belied his emotions, Achilles said. “I am sorry.”

Three words made Patroclus feel so sick. _Sorry? He was sorry?_ leave it to his Therapon to apologize where he held no fault. The guilt was a heavy thing. “No. Don’t.” He said, then finally looked up.

Achilles looked horrid, something he hadn’t noticed before. His eyes were as red and swollen as Patroclus’ own, and his hair hung limp and dull around his shoulders. He looked small in a way he’d never been, a way he wasn’t made for. It broke Patroclus’ heart.

“Don’t apologize when you did nothing wrong. It was m-”

“Patroclus, no I-”

“-It was _my_ fault. _My_ mistake.”

“Mistake?” Achilles voice was little more than a whisper.

Patroclus nodded. “Yes, I… I don’t know why I did that. That’s a lie, I do. But it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have done it, I didn’t have consent, I don’t even think you like boys, and I ruined everything.” 

Patroclus was crying hard, and every word was ripped from him. “So stop fucking apologizing for something you didn’t do wrong. It’s not your fault, it’s _mine.”_

“Patroclus, what are you saying?”

Patroclus looked up at Achilles, pleading and apologetic. He was shaking uncontrollably, and it showed in his voice. He prayed for strength. 

“I-I’m saying that I broke us. _I_ did that. You said Therapon, you said brothers; and I twisted it because my heart decided it was the right thing. I was selfish. I never asked your thoughts, I never even tried to see if maybe you’d want that. I just pulled a fucking Brett and kissed you, and it wasn’t okay. This,” he waved his hands. “Us? We are everything to me. I came back to make sure it would always be us, like it should have been the first time. But I fucked up- because you needed a friend, and I took advantage. So I’m sorry, Achilles. _So damn sorry._ And I hope you can forgive me, because our friendship is what matters to me. I’d be lost without it, so please just tell me you don’t hate me, and I’ll never do that again; I _Swear._ ”

Achilles flinched.

He opened his mouth to say something but closed it again. He sat for a long moment, and thought over everything Patroclus had poured at his feet. “There is nothing to forgive, Patroclus.”

Patroclus exhaled hard. As long as they were still friends he could handle it, and even though everything felt awkward now, Achilles hadn’t asked him to leave. Hadn’t chased him away. It was enough; it had to be. “Thank you.”

Achilles gave him a weak smile. “Always.” That single word twisted like a knife, but Patroclus smiled back- it felt pretend.

Neither of them said anything for a long time, and then Achilles asked out of nowhere. “What does it mean to pull a Brett?”

Patroclus’ head flopped into his hands and he groaned a laugh. Something in the journal he’d kept hidden, for fear of how his ‘friend’ might react. It didn’t matter now though, did it? They were just friends, and that’s all they would be; Achilles didn’t like him like that- that much was clear. And so he peered at the prince from between his fingers, red faced with embarrassment, and said. “There was this guy back home… my friend, Brett.”

Achilles nodded for him to continue, and Patroclus groaned again. “I never told you about Halloween because- I don’t know. I was being stupid. I thought it might bother you but why would it bother you? We’re best friends.” 

Achilles’ left eye twitched, and Patroclus wondered if he was making him uncomfortable talking about another boy in ‘not friends’ way.

“You know what? You don’t want to hear this. It’s really gay, and like clearly that isn’t your thing. Which is cool, I don-”

“Stop, Patroclus. I am not bothered. What happened on Halloween?” Achilles pressed. His voice was all weird, but he was trying. Patroclus could understand that this was probably awkward, they shared a bed for Godssake. 

“Well remember how I told you Halloween we all dress up like someone else?” He asked and Achilles nodded.

“Well Brett, he was my friend. Super tall, blonde, really muscly- athlete, you get it. Anyways, he was super gorgeous, he’s actually the whole reason I had to punch that kid in gym that one time. But I digress.”

The more he spoke the calmer he felt, it was a pleasant distraction, sharing the story of his first kiss with his friend. It hurt less to think about the fact that there would be others, probably; eventually. “So Brett had this girlfriend, and I thought he was straight. And then he had a Halloween party, and I guess they broke up, we-me and Bri- were all dancing, and then my favorite song came on and I was grinding-”

“Grinding?”

“Oh, shit. It’s like dancing, but dirty? It’s like-” Patroclus jumped up and swirled his hips in circles for a second. He’d embarrassed himself enough for one day, what was a little more?

As he moved, Achilles made a weird coughing sound and Patroclus looked at him, then awkwardly sat down and cleared his throat. 

“Sorry, it’s like that. So I was alone and then all the sudden _there’s Brett._ And Bri gives me a thumbs up and then, well next thing I know its all hands and Brett telling me he’s bi- likes boys and girls- and then he’s spinning me around and he just… Kissed me. Like hard. It was my first kiss and it was a little awkward, but then I realized I wasn’t into it so I kinda just... grabbed Bri, and we left. It was really lame of him to do that to me, and then here I am doing the same shit to my friend. And I’m just _really_ sorry.”

When he finished, his mouth was dry, and Achilles was pale. “Sorry, too much detail? The boy-boy thing was probably a lot. My bad, I just- I felt like When I did what I did, I basically did that to you and it wasn’t cool. So again, I’m sorry. Hey, Achilles are you okay?”

The prince was hunched to the side where he threw up a pink concoction that looked like figs. He wiped his mouth and shook his head as Patroclus came over to hold his hair. “Shit, I didn’t know you were sick. This whole day is a disaster, let’s just get you back to the cave okay? I’ll make you some ginger tea and it’ll be fine.”

Achilles nodded but didn’t say anything else as Patroclus helped him to his feet. He slipped an arm around the prince’s waist and pulled a golden arm over his shoulder. Everywhere they touched felt like an open wound, but his Therapon needed his help, and so for Achilles he’d bare it.

“Is… is this okay?” He asked, afraid after everything, of touching his friend in a way that made him uncomfortable. 

Achilles nodded again, but didn’t meet his eye. He was pale and sweating, and though Patroclus had sworn that gods and their children couldn’t get sick, he figured he’d mis-remembered. 

“Okay, we’ll be back soon. Just hang on.” He told Achilles, and steadily began the trek back to their cave.

It took forever, and little was said by either of them, but when they entered the clearing they found Chiron waiting. He smiled, eyes dancing between the two before he noticed Achilles’ pallor.

“I think he ate some bad figs,” Patroclus explained. “I’m just going to take him up and get him some tea. I’ll be back to help you with morning chores.”

“Achilles?” Chiron said, and Achilles just shook his head. The smile fell from Chiron’s face, replaced immediately by worry. “The ginger is in-”

“The little pot by the yarrow root. I know.” Patroclus smiled weakly. His mentor only nodded and went back to what he’d been doing.

When Achilles was safely put in bed, and had consumed three cups of tea, Patroclus left him to sleep. Only as he turned his back did he let the events of the last 24 hours turn over in his mind. He completed the chores Chiron laid out for him in numb silence. 

Broken hearts took time, but at least his friend didn’t hate him. It hurt in a way that threatened to take him to his knees each time he checked in on the prince. Even sick, he was the most beautiful man Patroclus had ever seen. _Not helping,_ he chastised himself. 

Time. He just needed a little time. 

Patroclus woke tired and weary, much as he had the day before. And just like that day, he rolled over only to find the other side of the bed cold. He told himself not to let it get to him, but it was hard. Loving Achilles had been a part of him for so long, and to take that love and change it to the way it was always meant to be, a way it had never been for him… It was like trying to rearrange his bones.

Patroclus stood, and changed, then made his way to the clearing. Achilles was deep in whispered conversation with Chiron, but when he cleared his throat, the two looked up. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No, not at all.” Achiles insisted, and scooted over a bit on the log. “I made bacon, and found some strawberries this morning. Here.”

He thrust a plate at Patroclus with a smile, and there was nothing there- no falsehood. Patroclus felt like he could breathe just a little bit easier, his Therapon was still his. Just different than before, _or the same_ said a cruel voice. It was true, it had always been him that thought more of each action, knowing that now he felt so stupid.

He grabbed the proffered plate, and took a seat next to Achilles just as he usually did. “Someone’s feeling better.” He laughed around a strawberry, and it hardly sounded forced. _progress_.

“So much! Thank you again. For yesterday.” Achilles said, and leaned into his side. Touching him still hurt, but Patroclus did best not to flinch; this was their regular, and he needed to remember that. He just wished Achilles would give him a little time to flip off his feelings, but asking Achilles to be less than himself was cruel and in the end, not something Patroclus would ever wish for. 

“That tea you made was incredible, I’ve never tasted anything so delicious. You’re truly amazing, you know that? I swear, I slept like a baby. How did you get it so sweet?”

Patroclus’ brows rose to touch his curls, and snorted as he bit into a piece of bacon. Apparently, Achilles was back to his usual self, though with the energy of two days now folded into one. He smiled a little, his friend was back and it was what he wanted; he told the pain in his heart to suck it, and answered. “Honey.”

“Wooow,” Achilles said and smiled again. “Well it was spectacular, thank you.”

Patroclus nodded, and turned questioning eyes on Chiron. His mentor looked back at him blankly, then shook his head. “You two missed training yesterday.”

It was true, and even though it had been necessary, Patroclus found he actually _missed_ it. The idea of training sounded wonderful all of the sudden, the need to hit something until he was exhausted would surely stave off his pain. He nodded to his mentor, then turned to the prince. “After breakfast?”

“Of course. Just eat up, you did not have breakfast yesterday. It is important to keep up your strength.”

“Neither did you, fig head.” Patroclus grumbled and shoved a salty piece of bacon into his mouth without any class. 

It was funny... He’d never put on a face for Achilles, but before today he’d always done his best to be a little more tactful. As it turns out, when a straight boy rips your heart out of your chest with gentlemanly grace, then goes back to being your friend, you stop giving a shit entirely.

“Yes, but I was sick.” Achilles argued with a playful shove. Patroclus glared and shoved another piece of bacon on top of the first.

“ _Sick,_ ” Chiron said to no one, and Achilles smiled harder- though his eyes were a little wild.

He was too close for too many reasons, and so Patroclus did the only thing he could think of. He grabbed the remaining piece of bacon and shoved it directly into Achille’s mouth. There was no romance, no tension like there had been with the fig. He mashed the piece of cooked flesh against white teeth until the prince had to take it, then he smiled through his own full mouth. “Eaa. den Shperfs.” 

Achilles chewed his own bacon with a smile, and raised a stupid eyebrow. The move made Patroclus chew just a little harder, he pantomimed stabbing his friend with a spear, and the prince nodded with a laugh.

“Eat, then spears. Got it.”

They finished their breakfast in record time.

When they’d spent hours on the usual regiment, Achilles called them to halt. Patroclus was dripping in sweat and had taken the top half of his Chiton down to tie about his waist; he was essentially wearing a super flowy skirt, but the heat on Pelion was ridiculous even in June. 

He dropped his weapon, and put both hands behind his head, looking to the blue sky and trying to catch his breath. “What’s up?”

Achilles didn’t respond, so he looked away from the puffy clouds only to find the prince staring at his chest. Normally he’d try to cover himself, sure that his budding musculature wouldn't endear him to a boy with the body of a Calvin Cline model; but that was _before._ “Yo, Dude!”

“mmm _what?_ ” 

“Why’d you stop us?”

“Water.” 

Apparently someone was monosyllabic this afternoon, he blamed the heat. Patroclus dropped his hands and made his way to the bucket they kept by the log with three cups. He dunked two in and drank greedily from the one in his right, as he handed the other to his friend. 

Achilles chugged the cup, then dunked it down to refill, drinking the second as quickly as he had the first. “Thirsty much?” Patroclus laughed.

Green eyes shot to his, and held on for a long moment. “Unbelievably.”

Patroclus nodded understandingly, then upended the rest of his water over his head. The icy liquid saturated his curls, and he shook like a dog, before combing it back from his forehead. “Same. But unlike you, I don’t want to get a cramp.”

Achilles dunked his cup in again, and drank deeply with a manic nod.

“So, back at it then?” Patroclus nodded toward the ring where two spears lay abandoned.

Achilles shook his head and set his cup down next to Patroclus’. “No I uhm. I have to... check this trap I set. So I will just go. Do that.”

Patroclus gave Achilles an odd look. “I could come with you?” He wasn’t a fan of the killing bit, but the way they set traps for smaller game meant that the animals were generally already dead. It was still sad, but didn’t make Patroclus want to barf.

Achilles shook his head, “No. No, It is by the caves.”

There was a long awkward pause, and Patroclus’ hand slid from his hair. “The _mountain lion_ caves?” He asked disbelieving. It seemed like a dumb ass move to set traps next to a predator’s house, and very unlike Achilles.

Achilles nodded again. “Yep. And I know how much you hate the big teeth and claws and… stuff. So I will just go do that and you can... Just be here. Okay?”

“.....Right. Well, fig head. You have fun with the murder cats, I’m going to the river. When you decide to stop being weird as shit let me know.” Patroclus covered the hurt he felt at the very obvious lie; today had been good, but he figured the prince must not be over the kiss. He’d have to do better about playing it cool.

Patroclus made his way to the river, and without a single care stripped and dove in. There was no one around to make him feel embarrassed, and it was so fucking hot. He stayed for a long time, floating along his back and watching the birds fly high overhead.

Eventually he resurfaced, the sky had turned to candy and he knew he needed to get back. Whatever happened tonight, he prayed tomorrow would be easier. “One day at a time, Patroclus.” he told himself. It was all he could do.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AO3 formatting got messed up, there is a strong chance you haven't read Chapter 27 because it had posted 26 twice. So just double check before starting or none of this will make sense. I'm so sorry <3
> 
> ___________________  
> Literally this is garbage, and I'm super sorry.
> 
> Update 1 on 3.5.21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHECK SUMMARY BC SOMETHING HAPPENED WITH FORMATTING****
> 
> Heyyyyy, So I'm so sorry about the impromptu hiatus. I had a lot going on the last two weeks. And every DAMN time I sat down to work through this chapter it was absolute fucking trash.
> 
> I'm still not happy with what I'm giving y'all today, and I have a feeling I'm going to be revisiting this specific chapter soon to fix shit, but for now? Here's this.
> 
> It's short. it's not my favorite, and it definitely doesn't do what I need it too, but I'll work with it for now bc it's legitimately like my 90th try. 
> 
> On one of those tries I took my adderall and then couldn't write so I tried to teach myself to draw so I could draw them, but I can't draw so I posted my attempt on tumblr for legit 15 minutes then looked back at it and was like "OH GOD WHY?" because I'm not an artist and they looked so dumb it was honestly hilarious. So that's another reason this is late as balls.
> 
> Some (actual) notes:
> 
> Coming up the POV will begin rotating a lot more, the remainder of the story is best told from multiple perspectives, which is something I've done a little of so far. Originally it was going to be 90% Pat but as i look at what I have next, it makes so much more sense. It wont be an equal rotation, it will be plot determined but I hope y'all don't hate the idea of more Achilles (and occasionally Bri) POV? If you do plz lmk.
> 
> If you wanna yell at me/ if this kind of BS hiatus unannounced shit happens again bc I'm rude/ to ask questions send theories whatever come find me on tumblr: ruhndanaantrash <3
> 
> Again I'm so sorry for this mediocrity, and it's lateness. I'm going to go do a few chores and I'll be back to add more updates tonight I believe/ this weekend for sure!
> 
> <3 Kenz

And so it went; this new way of living with each other. It was furtive glances and too-wide smiles. It was excuses to run off into the forest and even worse ones too be close together. 

If Patroclus was honest, it was confusing. For all that he had rejected the kiss-that-shouldn’t-have-been, he was _always_ there. Achilles acted as though nothing had changed, or maybe that wasn’t it at all. It almost felt to Patroclus like he was trying too hard all the time to push them back to where they’d been. Achilles was kind and happy, close and oh so observant. Their time together became confusing.

It was fresh strawberries and figs, boar bacon and trips to the river where they swam to close, touched just a _little_ too long. It was slow hikes through the mountain and time spent learning each other’s languages. It was memories made as quickly as possible, and the tingling burn he felt whenever the prince touched him seemingly without thinking.

Patroclus did his best to smile through it, he owed his Therapon that much at least. Achilles hadn’t been the one to break their foundation, he had; it was his responsibility to stop reading so much into every little thing. 

But it was so _hard_. It’s something no one had ever told him about love. That even after it becomes officially unrequited it doesn’t erase the feeling, doesn’t always turn it bitter. It didn’t wash away the way green eyes and subtle looks brought fire to his cheeks, the way a blinding smile was enough to make him stumble. The moments his hopeless heart thrives on we’re as sweet as they’d always been- and that, that was more painful than hate.

Getting over Achilles Pelides was truly fucking impossible for Patroclus- stranded here on this mountain as they were. And yet…

Patroclus never wanted for the drachma, even with the pain of heartbreak- for his best friend, for his love, for his family- he never wished to go back. He _belonged_ here, in this place, with this warrior. His responsibility to the boy who saved him from himself meant that he would continue as he had been: Outwardly not giving a fuck, internally screaming. _The way of the gays._

Weeks rolled by, and it became a little easier to breathe in the light of day. But at night, when he’d slip off into a dream world where his family and his prince were with him in the ways he craved, Patroclus let himself be weak; his body unconsciously shifting into the arms of a boy who would never love him the same way.

Nights where he woke before Achilles were the hardest, when a subtle shift would drag him from dreams and toss him back into the cave. More often than not he found himself cocooned in the blonde’s arms; warm, safe, loved. It would be a lie to say he didn’t stay there for a breath, two… ten. He’d relish in the warmth and pretend that this was how they really were; together and happy. Then with tears gathered against tightly squeezed lids, he’d slowly pull away from his heart and scoot back to his own side of the palette. 

When he’d wake again, he’d be alone, and Patroclus would tell himself it was okay. 

He had yet to believe it.

*****

It was morning again, and this time Patroclus was 15. He came too slowly. 

First he heard it: The early birds singing a rich tune outside the cave. 

He was warm, safe, loved. He smiled and peaked through his lashes, expecting to see the soft rays of summer sun seeping through the mouth of the cave and lighting everything in a rosy glow.

Instead it was a chest, bronze in the morning light- corded in muscle, soft to the touch. It rose and fell with measured breaths. Patroclus froze.

The sun was up and Achilles was still in bed. Not just _in_ bed but… Patroclus fought to keep his breathing even as he took in the rest of his surroundings. His head was pillowed on the aforementioned chest, his legs weaved between another set- longer, thicker, stronger.

Arms as tight as a vice held him around the waist and shoulders, and warm breath danced over his curls.

_Fuck._

Patroclus had feared exactly this, what it would mean to wake up in the light of the day in the way he’d found himself over and over again for weeks. There was no cover of darkness to hide his weakness, and unlike the other times when he’d been the little spoon, there was no way to subtly remove himself from the Prince’s side without waking him. Patroclus gulped, and looked down. The furs had slid dangerously low along Achilles’ hips and the entirety of his mouth watering torso was on display for Patroclus to see.

_Dead puppies._

_Old white men._

_Vaginas._

He squeezed his eyes closed and willed his body not to respond the way it was threatening to. He needed to get _away_ , and do so without waking the warrior with god-senses. He needed to get as far from his current spot as he could before everything was ruined once again. 

_Fuck you sleepy Pat, you traitorous whore_.

Patroclus exhaled slowly, and opened his eyes once more. With careful movements he lifted his left leg from where it had decided to wrap itself across broad thighs and brought it back to his side of the bed. Eyes locked on the chest before him, waiting for any sign that Achilles’ breathing had changed and he was waking up.

Left leg successfully moved he thanked the gods. _I got this._

His left arm, casually thrown across the tantalizing soft topography of Calvin Cline like abs followed slowly. Every movement made his heart race, and his palms sweat. Halfway up, he hit an impasse: Achilles was wrapped around him not unlike an octopus, and in order to free himself he’d have to move the blonde. 

He sighed, quiet but heavy. Was it better just to make a huge movement and come up with an excuse for such a violent movement when the prince inevitably woke? Or risk moving him slowly, and if he woke anyway…. “Shit.” he whispered.

_Or you could just stay,_ the part of his mind ruled solely by hormones taunted. And damn did he wish he could… But everything would be worse if he listened. And so, Patroclus allowed himself another moment just to breathe in the scent of salt and pomegranate; Of comfort, and everything his Therapon meant to him. 

With careful grace he tilted his head back, he wanted just once to look upon the love of his young life in the early morning sun from such an intimate angle. _One look,_ he promised himself, _and then I’ll move. I’ll make myself a separate bed and we’ll never have this problem again. Just one look._

His eyes were closed as he prepared for his selfish moment. If this was all he’d get, he’d remember every detail.

His cheek slid against velvet bronze, and slowly he opened his eyes.

_Green._

It was the first thing his mind registered. _Green, green, green._ Glittering emeralds looked back at him in the soft pink light.

Patroclus froze again, arm still awkwardly hovering above Achilles’ side, breath caught in his throat.

His heart hammered as he continued to stare, unable to blink- to look anywhere but the ocean of viridescent beauty before him.

Time stopped entirely.

Achilles watched him back, blonde waves draped softly across blushing cheeks; a small smile on strawberry lips. He was awake, _How long has he been awake? Why didn’t he move me? Oh_ gods _what the fuck am I going to do?_

Patroclus opened his mouth to say what? He had no idea. Hopefully something to save the damage this would cause. But, words failed him. It was a familiar feeling and yet, just as irritating as it had always been. 

Achilles’ smile grew, and slowly he tilted his head further down, his nose nearly brushing Patroclus’ own. 

He couldn’t stifle the tiny gasp.

Warm breath danced over his lips, as his prince whispered “Happy Birthday, Philtatos.”

Patroclus shivered and goosebumps ran trails across his body. 

Today he was 15, and with it came a certain wisdom. Three truths revealed in that quiet moment:

The fates were assholes.  
The gods were also assholes.  
He was undeniably, irrevocably, wholeheartedly _fucked._

_Happy Birthday to me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank y'all for taking the time to come along this journey with me. For your kuddos/comments/bookmarks. I can't tell you what it means to me <3


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE #2 of 3.5.21
> 
> IF YOU HAVE NOT READ CHAPTER 28 I POSTED EARLIER GO BACKKKKKK
> 
> Seriously, if you haven't read Patroclus' POV before this point you'll be sad<3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well..........
> 
> *Shit eating grin*
> 
> Have some Achilles POV.

**Achilles:**

_“For a man who does not know when the fates will take the one he loves, you seem fairly unconcerned with telling him the truth.”_

Chiron’s words played in his head without mercy, a tune he could not forget if he had tried. He said them over breakfast before Patroclus had woken, a few days after the lake. Achilles had simply stared, half furious, half embarrassed that _this,_ his cowardice was being outwardly discussed over figs- where anyone, _Patroclus_ , could hear them. 

Achilles was to be a _Hero_ and yet… Why was it so hard? 

Each morning he woke clinging to his heart who slept peacefully in his arms, and he’d watch for an endless moment- bathing in every space they touched beneath the furs. He’d tell himself that ‘today was the day,’ and then his body would betray him, and he would run from the bed before his body could reveal his intention before his mouth.

On shaky legs, he’d sprint past his mentor, praying to the gods that his speed would hide the traitorous evidence beneath his chiton; and go into the woods. To a spot that had become all too familiar as the prince grew into a man. He’d see those soft lips, edible and tempting, those honeyed eyes that held the depths of Achilles’ soul captive, and with guilty excitement he’d take himself in hand. _Just this time, and then I will tell him._

When he finally made his way back from his secret tree, guilt and endorphins coloring his cheeks pink, Chiron would give him a knowing look and Achilles would begin breakfast. 

His mentor never asked him again if he’d told Patrolcus, he didn’t need to. It was there, the ‘no’ in glaringly large letters that glowed like gods in the space between them- Achilles was somewhat surprised Patroclus never saw them.

And then it was always the same, Patroclus would stumble into view, umber curls and mahogany skin stretched taught over muscles that seemed to appear just to spite Achilles. And his mouth would run dry. _Today is the day,_ he’d promise himself and smile without restraint at his tired Therapon; but as the day went on, the words never came.

Over, and over, and over again.

A month of almosts had led him here: Patroclus’ 15th birthday. He’d spent most of yesterday with his mother, even though things hadn’t yet gone back to normal between them. 

He’d returned just as the man in question was sliding beneath the furs. They’d had their normal interaction and slowly Patroclus had drifted off. As with most nights Achilles watched him until his eyes grew too heavy, and he found himself in a dream world where he was no longer a coward. Patroclus was there, _always there,_ smiling that perfect smile. Looking at Achilles as he always had, before the lake- before everything had gone so wrong. 

He woke with the sun, to find Patroclus for once wrapped around him. It was usually him who clung to his Therapon in sleep, and yet the fates had delivered Achilles this simple gift. Lithe legs were weaved between his own, and a long sinewy arm was clinging to his stomach. At some point the furs had slid low on each of them, and Achilles gulped when he peered over the cloud of curls to see Patroclus’ bare back glowing in the early light. 

Patroclus breathed evenly, warm breath tickling Achilles’ chest; He squeezed tighter. On any other morning he would have done his best to extricate himself, but their position made doing so impossible without waking the brunette. _It is his birthday, he deserves sleep._ Achilles reasoned, and it wasn’t entirely a lie. 

So what if he leaned his nose into those curls and inhaled his sweet scent? So what if he ran delicate fingers along the dip of his spine?

Time passed like this, and when the birds began their song in earnest and the sun turned the cave a rosey pink, he felt it; the telltale sign of a body waking. It was in the stuttered breath, and the way his Philtatos froze.

Achilles kept his breathing even, curious to see how Patroclus would react for once being the first to wake to the evidence of their secret intimacy. It was always him sneaking away, and the prospect of watching the smaller man react, to see if maybe he’d stay and make it easier for Achilles, was too good to pass. 

So he waited, and watched.

First it was a leg, moving at the speed of a snail as it peeled itself from Achilles’ own- he immediately missed it’s warmth; Still said nothing. His heart thundered as Patroclus’ left arm lifted from his stomach and froze. “Shit.” 

The curse, as he’d come to learn from his Therapon, was whispered so softly he’d have missed it if his every cell wasn’t attuned to Patroclus.

The way he held the birthday boy was unforgiving, and it seemed that Patroclus had just realized that. Achilles could have moved, could have helped, but he didn’t want to. He was selfish, and if this was all he could have of his love, he was determined to drink it in. 

A heavy sigh, and then…

The smooth glide of a flawless face sliding along his chest as the cloud of curls tilted back. For the first time since he’d woke, he saw Patroclus’ face.

His eyes were squeezed tight, arm still hovering awkwardly, and Achilles couldn’t help but smile. He looked beautiful even all scrunched up. The sun danced across his cheekbones and highlighted their warmth. Patroclus looked like a dream in the pink morning light, and Achilles was lost to it.

Slowly, so slowly, honey eyes opened to lock on his own, and there was a tiny gasp. Achilles wasn’t sure who’d made that traitorous sound, he wouldn’t have been surprised if they both did. They were locked onto each other, hearts thundering a tattoo between them, and still Achilles didn’t relent.

_Today is the day._

_Today is the day._

_Today is…_

_Today._

Achilles smiled, and took a deep breath, then brought his face dangerously close to the object of his every desire. He felt it when Patroclus held his breath, eyes wide and pupils dilated.

There was a whisper of space between their noses, “Happy Birthday, _Philtatos_.” 

He spoke the words softly, and before Patroclus could respond he closed the distance between them.

He felt weightless; infinite. As soft lips pressed ever so gently back against his own; He felt it in his bones as Patroclus melted. 

The arm he’d moved away fell like Icarus, and his back arched as Achilles pressed harder. It wasn’t like it had been that first time; when shock and fear had overridden his ability to feel anything else. This time he felt it all, and like the poets claimed: it was _everything._

Patroclus sighed, and Achilles took the opportunity to slide his tongue just beyond the seam of his parted lips.

And then it was a soft hand tracing his stomach and a leg returned to its cradle. It was his own hands tangled in thick curls the color of freshly tilled earth. It was lips moving with an ease unexpected with such inexperience, and tongues testing waters. It was a heart beating so painfully he swore his ribs would break, and hips that seemed to move of their own accord. 

It was _this, and this, and this._

And then it was nothing but quick soft panting between them, and two foreheads pressed tight. 

Achilles opened his eyes slowly, only to find Patroclus already staring at him. _”W-what?”_ The word was soft, and Achilles couldn’t help his smile.

“I-I have other gifts, but I thought I would start with the most important. Patroclus,” Achilles brought his hand around to trace along his Therapon’s cheek. “I… You are _everything_ to me, and I never meant for you to think different-”

“But-”

“You gave me a gift on my birthday, one you thought was not received as intended. I- My mother, she... She has always been able to _see_ me. Wherever I am. That is how she knows so much.”

“I don’t understand.” Patroclus said softly, and Achilles took a deep breath. This was so unlike the hundreds of speeches he had planned- of grand declarations he’d practiced as he hunted all the boar on pelion to bring Patroclus gifts of bacon in lieu of the truth. He hoped it would be enough.

“I thought that she saw, and if she saw she would take you from me as she had that day at the docks. That if she knew how much I…” He took an uneven breath and pressed on. The time for cowardice had ended; if he was to be a hero, he would start with this. “Patroclus you are the air in my lungs, the joy in my heart. From the moment I found you, and all the ones after, regardless of what the Fates had done. It has always been _you._ ”

Patroclus leaned away from their embrace, enough to put space between their faces once more. There was silence, and as it grew Achilles felt his heart start to crumble. The hand that held the beautiful face before him slid away, and slowly he closed his eyes in defeat. It was as he’d feared, _I am too late._

“All this time?” 

Achilles nodded, then looked back once more. His voice shook when he continued. “There has never been another, you are my sun, Patroclus. My ocean. My glory. My soul. There is nothing I would not do, no sacrifice too great, to kee-”

For the second time in this disastrous declaration, Achilles was interrupted. Patroclus threw himself atop the prince, lips chasing his own desperately. “I” Patroclus panted between fantic kisses. “You… _Fuck._ ” The last word ended in a groan that made Achilles’ blood sing, a sound far better than any he’d imagined before.

Minutes passed, and though it was evident they each felt it, Achilles knew that it wasn’t the time. He wasn’t ready, and Patroclus deserved the kind of courting like tales of old. He deserved to make a choice when his body and mind were not clouded as they were now; and so slowly, gracefully, Achilles slowed their kiss to a stop.

He smiled and planted a single kiss on the tip of Patroclus’ nose hovering above him, and watched as his cheeks turned rosy once more. When Patroclus finally opened his eyes, he was smiling down at Achilles. The prince would have given anything for the cameras he’d learned about, so that he could capture the perfection before him. 

The sun and crystals lit Patroclus like a god, and messy curls hung around his face. His smile was near blinding, and his eyes had that joy back in them Achilles had missed like a lung. “ _Philtatos,”_ Patroclus whispered, and Achilles huffed a laugh; his Therapon had no idea how right he was.

He raised a single brow in question, and Patroclus closed his eyes, shaking his head with a smile that Achilles would burn the world for. After a moment, he looked back up. “Y-you’re not just saying this b-because it’s my birthday or, or you feel obligated.. Right?” 

Achilles shook his head, and watched as the final vestiges of apprehension left Patroclus. “I do not lie, Patroclus.”

Patroclus snorted.

“Rude, but fair. I do not lie _often_.” Achilles admitted. “If you do not believe me, you may speak with the mountain lions, or Chiron. Both of which are tired of hearing me complain about my own cowardice.”

Patroclus giggled, light and airy; It was Achilles’ favorite song. “You’re not a coward.”

“I am. If I was not, I would have told you before.”

Patroclus shifted, crossing his arms over Achilles’ chest and laying his chin atop. “Why didn’t you?”

“I was going to, when I came back after I ran… But you were asleep, and then… Well, then you ran. Because apparently we are both idiots. And by the time I caught you, you told me about _Brick_ -”

“Brett.” Patroclus corrected with a laugh.

“Stupid name, regardless.” Achilles fired back. Patroclus rolled his eyes, and wiggled a finger for him to continue. “And after that, you kept saying we were friends. That it was a mistake, and I thought maybe you thought it truly was. That you did not mean it. And then _that_ spear training happened, and I…”

“You?”

Achilles felt his cheeks burn at the memory, how Patroclus had stripped himself almost bare, sweat slipping through the valleys in his skin. How he’d become so enraptured by the sight before him he’d yelled about mountain lions and ran faster to his tree than ever before. 

It… wasn’t his proudest moment, to say the least. 

Embarrassment fresh, he rambled through the rest of his thought, eyes steadfastly looking anywhere but Patroclus. “Thought I was going to die when you started dumping water across your head, and I forgot how to be brave. So I ran, again. And every day since I have told myself I would fix this, but I was afraid I was too late.” 

Patroclus leaned down to place a soft kiss over Achilles’ heart, and the words he spoke against his skin were ones the prince knew would never forget. “You weren’t too late, Achilles.” Honey eyes, earnest and radiant turned up to lock on his own. “I would have waited a thousand lifetimes for you.”

_Oh._

Achilles leaned forward, and placed a gentle kiss to Patroclus’ forehead. “And I you.” he murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYY AYYYYY!!! Fucking FI-NAL-YYYYYYYYY
> 
> Okay, quick reminder. I will not write explicit anything until they are 18, however I will be writing more abstract intimacy from here on out. I'm sorry if the abstract makes anyone uncomfortable or dissapointed. I promise I'm all about writing the dirrrrrrtyyyyyyyyy, but I just can't do it as a 27yo about two children. I know in ancient Greece they mens, so I'll let them do mens things before then, but I'm not giving you that sensory detail I will lates because it gives me the heebies.
> 
> That also being said, we have moved into an M rating. Know that the moment these hoes turn 18 though, all bets are off and I refuse to hold back when it's necessary for plot. I promise not to make this a P without Plot fic, but know that some of the later chapters will def be smut-centric. I'll be sure to add any warnings about NSFW shit beyond this point but I didn't want to for this chap bc it's just a makeout and I didn't wanna spoil it.
> 
> As usual, all mistakes are my own and your comments/kuddos are so unexpected but make my whole day. I love you all dear readers, and if anyone wants to come scream at me, I'm on tumblr: ruhndannantrash
> 
> <3 Kenzi


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